


Together/Alone

by bonyenne



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Important Note: Yuuri is not actually a fairy or a prince or cursed in any way, M/M, Mutual Pining, Otherwise known as: Victor Nikiforov and the Extraordinary Leaps of Logic, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, These boys are so dumb sometimes it's adorable but COME ON, magical spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonyenne/pseuds/bonyenne
Summary: On Yuuri's twelfth birthday he makes a wish to meet Victor at one of his competitions. Since then it's been a tradition of his: watching Victor's competitions and dreaming of the conversations they might have if Yuuri were there.There's only one problem with the situation.It's not real.How do you handle falling in love with your imaginary friend?How do you handle it when he's based off your real-life idol?—Victor has a secret, a fairy prince who's come to visit him at nearly every figure skating competition since he was fifteen. Maybe he's a little old to believe in this sort of thing, but he's positive there's something deeper going on here, and he's willing to do nearly anything to break whatever curse might be keeping them apart.There’s only one problem with the situation.He’s not allowed to ask.How do you rescue someone when you don’t even know what curse they’re under?How do you even begin to figure it out?





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

**Chapter 1: Yuuri**

* * *

 

If someone were to tell Yuuri that he would soon be presented with the chance to make a real magical wish, perhaps he’d spend a little more time preparing it, or at least try to word it differently.

But they don’t. 

And so the wish that begins his story (and in fact the story itself) goes as follows.

 

—

 

**2002 - 2004**

**Hasetsu, Japan**

 

Yuuri’s nine when he discovers Victor Nikiforov. He loves skating almost as much as he loves Yuuko, and nearly more than he loves ballet, so when she suggests that they watch the JGP SBC Cup on television and potentially show up late to ballet practice it’s a hard sell but he’s still roped into it. It turns out to be life changing because Victor is there on the television in shining lights… and Yuuko becomes his biggest fan. Yuuri doesn’t like sharing Yuuko’s affection but he does like listening to her tell him about the things she likes, so he becomes a willing soundboard for her to gush about her various discoveries regarding the things Victor likes and does and wears and skates, and by the beginning of the next season he’s just as big a fan of Victor as she is.

Victor’s deserving of it, really. He’s so good that everyone’s expecting his second season in juniors to be his last, and Yuuri religiously follows along with his ascent to stardom in magazines and news clips and everything they can tape and replay at the rink and even, eventually, on the Onsen’s new computer. By the time Victor competes in the JWC he definitely likes him more than ballet, almost as much as skating, and even, possibly, just about as much as he likes Yuuko. That is, if he had to choose only one of the two to be friends with for the rest of his life, clearly Yuuko would still win, but for anything lesser, like hanging out, or practicing together, or watching them compete and so forth, he’d choose Victor. Anyway, Yuuko understands, even though she laughs at him for the way he puts it when he tries to apologize and explain himself.

It’s not until Yuuri sees Victor skate his Lilac Fairy piece live, smashing the world record and grinning at the camera with a hint of heart in the shape of his smile and a dash of tears at the corner of his eyes, that he begins to understand why Yuuko thought it was so funny when he tried to explain the difference between his feelings. (Not to mention why she’s started following Takeshi everywhere.) Because the boy sparkling under the lights on that screen? That’s what it means when they say someone makes your heart jump, and he’s just shot past everything in Yuuri’s ranking system to solidify a spot at number one, breaking all previous records that any others have ever or will ever hold.

True to predictions, Victor does move up to seniors the next year. He’s fifteen and about to take the world by storm, even starting out with spots at two of the GP prelims like a real seeded skater. The ISU is taking him seriously, and Yuuri likes to think of it as a sign that the two spots he gets are his home country and Yuuri’s.

Maybe, just maybe, if Yuuri can keep improving, he’ll be doing that too someday.

He watches the Cup of Russia at the rink because they don’t pay for that channel at the Onsen, and it’s almost scary how much more beautiful Victor gets every year except it isn’t at all because who could ever be scared by that dazzling ray of light?

Yuuri clenches his fists in his warm-up pants and begins wishing.

 

—

 

**November 28-29, 2004**

**NHK Trophy - Nagoya, Japan**

 

The wishing continues throughout the next three weeks and suddenly it’s Yuuri’s twelfth birthday and the NHK Trophy all in the same weekend, and his parents throw a huge party at the Onsen complete with all of the current guests staying in the inn. One old lady who’s taken a shining to him even makes him a birthday cake (which he helps her with, even though she keeps insisting that he doesn’t need to) and she lets him chat about Victor while he washes the dishes because they get the right channel this time and he’s going to get to watch the entire thing here in the Onsen, starting tonight. At the end of it all she asks him what his birthday wish is going to be, and because she’s been so kind in listening to him babble on and she’s already promised to watch the cup with him tonight after the party, he doesn’t feel awkward at all whispering his secret in her ear before blowing it out over the candles. After all, Yuuri believes so strongly in the fact that he’ll meet Victor at a competition someday that he’s positive telling won’t ruin this wish.

Later that night he’s counting down the seconds until his actual birthday arrives when he remembers his wish and gets distracted imagining what it would be like to meet Victor right now. He’s probably still in Japan, so it wouldn’t be impossible, except that Victor’s in Nagoya and Yuuri’s not. It’s too bad the competition isn’t at the Ice Castle instead, then Yuuri could be watching in person and Victor could be staying in the Onsen instead of one of those big soulless westernized hotels that Nagoya’s probably packed with. He’s never been in one of those before, but he looked them up once and from what he can recall it’s really just a lot of white and browns centered around a big bed, with a bathroom shunted off to the side. Or, well, Victor’s only a couple of years older than him, so his room could have two beds, since he’d probably still be sharing with his coach.

Yuuri closes his eyes as the clock strikes midnight, trying to picture it. Two big beds with white sheets. Victor would have picked the one by the window when they arrived so he could look out at the scenery and city below. It’s pretty late, so he’s probably already in it, all snuggled up with about thirty pillows and his silver hair tufted out everywhere. For a split second Yuuri almost imagines it in a braid or something to keep it tame, but once he gets going visualizing he starts seeing strands floating everywhere like a giant bird’s nest with Victor like a baby chick nestled in the middle. He snorts out a giggle at the mental picture, then he likes it so much that he keeps imagining it that way.

If Yuuri were there, it’d be almost like a sleepover—their pajamas in matching colors (though Victor’s of course would be much finer than Yuuri’s), maybe by chance and maybe just because they’re close enough friends that they coordinated it just for fun. And they’d stay up and talk all night. He hums, wondering what they might talk about. Actually, first of all, Victor would be awake (so they actually could talk).

Dream-Victor sits up, yawning and blinking at Yuuri.

“Hello!” Yuuri smiles and gives a little wave inside his head. It’s easier than expected to approach Victor, but then a lot of things are when they’re just in his imagination.

Next, Dream-Victor’s response. Hmm…. What would he say, after all? Hello? How are you? Yuuri cocks his head to the side, thinking, as the vision of Victor waits with a small frown on his face. Eventually his mind makes the decision for him and Victor opens his mouth, saying something in Russian.

Yuuri’s mouth drops open and he claps his hands over it in distress. “Oh no, I forgot to imagine that I could speak Russian!”

The imaginary Victor blinks at him a couple of times, staring at him silently while Yuuri babbles, trying to work out how they would talk to each other if he met Victor this weekend. “You definitely wouldn’t speak Japanese… I guess English will be our shared language if I ever get to meet you? Unless I learn Russian?”

He really only knows a few phrases in English right now, but there’s no way to learn Russian at his school so English will have to be the way to go. He mentally resolves to start paying more attention to those classes in school as he scrounges around to think of things they can say to each other using what he does know decently well, mostly from greeting foreign guests at the Onsen. Dream-Victor draws his knees to his chest and pulls his head back a little and really Yuuri should be saying something soon. Thank _goodness_ this encounter isn’t real because if it were it would be just about the most embarrassing thing ever. He stumbles a few steps forward and bows reflexively, greeting Victor like he’s a British guest at the Onsen.

“Hello, nice to meet you!”

“…Nice to meet you too?” Victor says it back but it comes out a bit more like a question than a welcome. Yuuri’s clearly struggling to come up with things for him to say. He racks his brain. In the meantime, Victor _would_ say some more things, so he does, but Yuuri doesn’t really know enough English to visualize a sentence for real, so it all just comes out sounding vaguely Englishy but not actually understandable. That’s probably how this would go for real anyway, though, since Victor definitely knows more English than him (being so internationally traveled and all). Yuuri bites his lip. He’s really bungling this whole imagination thing.

Yuuko would probably say he’s being too silly putting rules on his dreams, but the world has to work in certain ways if it’s going to make sense, and Yuuri can’t just _imagine_ Victor speaking perfect Japanese or himself speaking prefect Russian or English or who-knows-what if it’s not true! That would just make it even more obvious that he wasn’t actually meeting Victor in real life and then it would shatter the illusion and he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the daydream at all because he’d be too busy thinking about how it wasn’t actually happening.

Dream-Victor babbles some more and then climbs out of the bed, padding over to the entrance to the room and examining the door. Yuuri wrinkles his nose. He’s not going to call this a wasted effort (even though it kind of is), but rather, a learning opportunity. Clearly he needs to put in some more work before he actually meets Victor.

It’s good incentive to practice anyway, since of course he wants everything to go absolutely perfectly when it finally happens for real.

But for now, he can’t even imagine Victor wanting to hang out with him at this stage. In fact, he’d probably just feel awkward at Yuuri barging in on him and kick him out—aaand there he goes, opening the door and leaning into the hallway. Before Yuuri can upset himself by imagining the look on Victor’s face when he turns back around, he banishes the image of the hotel room from his mind and opens his eyes, looking over to the frozen, eternally smiling poster of Victor plastered to his wall.

Practice, he reminds himself. He just needs to practice. Both his actual words and what to say. That’s only two things after all, and there are plenty of competitions to go before there’s even a chance of them actually meeting. Anyone can learn two things in that amount of time.

But for now, he should probably get to sleep.

 

—

 

**December 16-19, 2004**

**Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final - Lyon, France**

 

Victor doesn’t come on the television until two in the morning Yuuri’s time because the Grand Prix Final is so many time zones away, and his parents have a tape going in the VCR to catch it so he can watch it in the morning (which did work just fine for the short program), but Yuuri sets an alarm anyway and sneaks down to watch the free skate live. His parents mean well but they just don’t realize how important this is—Victor’s only in third place right now, which is super impressive considering the talent of his competition (a full three of whom are current record holders, and that’s not even counting Victor himself), but also super scary… considering the talent of his competition. The record holder for free skate won it on this year’s program just three weeks ago, and he’s currently in fourth and strongly expected to jump up in rankings tonight.

In any case, when he gets downstairs he discovers he’s not the only one up—there’s also a family of ice dancers from Canada staying at the Onsen right now, and they don’t really care about time zones because they’re on vacation, so they’re all sitting in the common room with the TV already playing the right channel and everything. It ends up being really cool to watch with them: even though they don’t speak any Japanese, they start giving Yuuri a detailed commentary in English on all of the skaters’ programs, which not only helps him build his foreign skating lingo, but also shows him what to watch out for in his own skating. He’ll need both whenever he starts going to international competitions.

And he _is_ going to make it to international competitions someday.

They encourage Yuuri to try out his own commentary when he points his favorite skater (Victor, of course) out to their little son, so he gives them all a rundown of Victor’s short program and what to expect from his free skate tonight. It’s nice to practice English with them because they’re the kind of parents who are super encouraging, and their son is only in kindergarten so he doesn’t really care how many things Yuuri’s getting wrong. Besides, Yuuri’s already been teaching him basic Japanese over the past few days in exchange for the same phrases in French, so really this whole week has been a mess of silly grammar all around.

Anyway, little Jeannot already thinks Yuuri’s super impressive because Yuuri showed him a few jumps when his parents came to the Ice Castle earlier in the week to give an impromptu demonstration, so even if he does lose a few pegs with his language mistakes he still gets to feel like a cool older brother sort of person. It’s also pretty great how when the men take to the ice he’s so wowed by all the awesome skating going on that he’s now talking about competing in men’s singles instead of going into ice dancing like his parents. It’s always nice to bring another convert into the fold!

And so maybe Yuuri’s only improved at conversational English a little bit, having had only two weeks to practice since the last time, and he definitely doesn’t know any Russian yet, but if he were competing at the GPF right now he could at least say a few more things about skating and he could greet Victor in French, which is important to him considering Victor’s in France at the moment. He always loves the visitors best who try to speak Japanese with him, regardless of how many words they know or whether what they’re saying actually makes sense. He’s pretty sure he would be horrified to go anywhere and not be able to say at least ‘hello’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ and probably ‘where’s the bathroom,’ and, well, basically anything that could help him if everything went terribly wrong, so French seems like the perfect happy medium while he works on figuring out his Russian greetings.

It’s these phrases running through Yuuri’s head when he gets up to pee about two hours after going back to bed, and when he can’t fall back asleep because he’s still too wired over the competition, he decides to figure out which phrases he would use if he _were_ competing at the GPF this year and _could_ greet Victor after all. It’s been a while since the free skate ended, and that was sometime in the evening in France, so Victor would be… hmm, he would probably be back in his hotel room by now. It might be early enough for him to still be awake, but then again competitions are exhausting. Perhaps he’s just finished getting ready and is finally falling asleep, hair and duvet still smooth and pristine as he slowly sinks deeper into his pile of pillows.

Yuuri bites his lip and squints through his eyelashes. The hotel should have more of a French feel than the one he imagined last time. Maybe decorated with more peaches and pinks instead of the practical browns and whites he’d imagined in Nagoya. Oh, and ruffles on the edge of the bedspread. Lots of them. With artwork on the walls depicting some sort of flower or umbrella or something. He snuggles up in bed and begins to drift away, the vision he’s building becoming slowly more detailed around him.

This time, of course, he’d open with French, since the phrases are right there in his head anyway. He opens his mouth as he considers what he’d say, but then he stops himself as Victor’s eyes flutter and he turns his head into the nearest pillow.

Well, this is silly. Why wouldn’t he imagine Victor awake for them to talk? Now he just feels awkward because he should never wake up a hotel guest, even if it’s not his hotel. He paces a few steps, looking around the room he’s built. It’s very fancy. Perhaps his imagination is starting to grow.

Victor sneezes and inhales a chunk of hair, squawking and spitting as he smacks at his face, trying to gather up all the hairs and drag them away without opening his eyes. Yuuri snorts. He can’t help it! Victor is a very glamorous person and he shouldn’t imagine him in such an unsophisticated state, but in his defense he didn’t try to, it just sort of popped into his head. And really sometimes glamour just begs for a funny flip-flop like that. Victor frowns in response, mumbling something without opening his eyes.

What would he mumble, Yuuri wonders. His coach’s name, perhaps? He’d imagined the other bed empty, so maybe the coach could be out visiting with sponsors still or something. Victor might wonder if he’s back? It would be impolite to leave him hanging though, or worse, believing he’s someone he’s not, so this is where Yuuri should respond in a scenario like this. He leans forward, tucking his hands behind his back in an informal sort of bow.

“Bonjour!”

Dream-Victor shoots up this time (sensible, since he’s not fully asleep yet), looking at Yuuri with his jaw hanging loose. Perhaps he’s about to yawn. He definitely knows some French though, based on his interviews earlier, so this time he should respond in that instead of going straight to Russian.

And he does, saying another one of the greetings Jeannot taught Yuuri, and then asking a question. Unfortunately it’s not one that Yuuri knows. Yuuri grinds his teeth, reminding himself to stick to things he does know for this conversation. Okay, so what kind of question that Yuuri knows would Victor ask… how are you, maybe? No, that’s something Yuuri would say. Or is it? Wouldn’t he say something more like congratulations? He doesn’t know that, but maybe…

“Tchin tchin!”

The ice dancers say that when they toast him, so at least it means something good and cheerful (though not so much in Japanese, he muses wryly). Although, it’s probably not exactly right for the situation, so Victor would likely be confused. And indeed, he blinks at Yuuri for a few moments before responding.

“Merci?”

He is pretty smart after all, so of course he’d figure out it’s meant to be congratulatory. He looks like he’s about to go on, but Yuuri’s not sure the French he knows will get them any further, and so Victor just says a few more French-sounding words before screwing up his nose and switching to English, watching Yuuri closely.

“How did you get here?”

Of course when he meets Victor for real it will be because he’s a competitor, but he’s not going to make any claims to that until it’s true, even if this is just his imagination. He does need to answer though, since that’s the point of these daydreams. Well, talking is. Hmm… what would Yuuri say in this situation? If this were real and he wasn’t a competitor but was still meeting Victor, it would have to be either because he won a vacation or because of some wild series of events he can’t even think up, and he doesn’t really know how to explain either of those.

“Ah,” how does he say it’s a fantasy in English? He’s not sure, but he does know a similar word (according to all the Disney movies), so that’s what he says instead. “Magic?”

It’s not exactly what he’s going for but it’s good enough for a practice round. Besides, now that this conversation is out of the way he can imagine knowing Victor and being friends with him and getting to talk to him without having to imagine the awkward parts where they’re just meeting, so every daydream should flow easier and easier as he goes along. Anyway, it’s a good enough explanation, it _is_ , and so Victor nods. Slowly, and with a bit of a wrinkle between his eyebrows, probably because Yuuri keeps going on and on in his head about how good of an explanation it actually is and how it’s not actually real, but he does nod.

Yuuri takes a deep breath and pushes the rest of it behind him, resolving to stop being so critical of his daydreams in the future. Seriously, Yuuko would not be happy with him right now! He flashes a grin at Victor and gives him a thumbs up, since that’s pretty much a universal gesture. Probably.

“Good skate today! Third place!!”

“Thanks,” Victor scrunches up his nose and says something back. What’s that word? Yuuri knows the word, he’s just tired but he knows he knows the word and clearly his brain does too if he’s making Victor use it. Does it mean upset? He looks upset. It probably means upset.

“Disappointing?” He waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t be disappointing. You get a medal!”

Victor rolls his eyes but the corner of his mouth turns up a little.

“I wanted to win though.”

That’s an easy sentiment to translate; Yuuri feels it all the time. He really wishes he knew how to say something about all the world record holders, but he doesn’t so he just rolls his eyes back, harder.

“You’re silly. They said fourth place man was third but no, it was you!”

Victor nods, trying to put a somber look on his face and failing as it keeps trying to twitch into a smile. “I am very silly. I’ll try not to be disappointing.”

“Good.”

Yuuri’s brain is about ready to shut down from general lack of sleep and trying to concentrate on all this foreign communication, so he decides to stop concentrating so hard. Or well, he’s not really sure it’s a conscious decision. More like, he’s pretty sure he was about to think of the next thing to say and then it’s bright out and Mari’s pounding on his door and he must have drifted off to sleep while imagining. That or he drifted off to sleep beforehand and just sort of dreamed the whole thing, that’s entirely possible too. Either way, it was a good dream and he’s excited to watch the free skate again this morning if the Canadians don’t tell his parents about last night.

 

—

 

**Early 2005**

**Hasetsu, Japan**

 

Yuuri doesn’t really think about his daydreams for a while after the GPF is over. After all, Victor’s pretty much done competing, or at least skating in competitions that Yuuri can follow easily, considering that Russian Nationals isn’t aired where he lives and his only interest in European Championships is the chance to see Victor representing Russia. Well, maybe also to see who’s going to challenge the winner of Four Continents at Worlds, but there’s nobody _truly_ interesting competing in Four Continents this year that Yuuri even cares about seeing at Worlds. As it turns out though, Russia only gets one entry this season for Europeans anyway, and they end up giving it to one of Victor’s older compatriots instead: the man who won both the Grand Prix Final and Russian Nationals. He guesses it makes sense but it’s still disappointing (although he does find out after the fact that Victor did get second place in Russian Nationals, so that’s pretty cool).

Anyway, he doesn’t have much energy for complex daydreams as he throws himself into his own skating more and more throughout the year, even though in the back of his head he’s always kind of thinking what he might say to Victor in any given situation. For now, practicing his skating and his English is enough.

In fact, it doesn’t really rear its head in earnest until right before his junior season starts, when he runs into an elderly couple who stayed at the onsen once and they ask him how Victor’s doing. It’s kind of cute, to be honest—he’s pretty sure they’ve forgotten that Victor’s just a skater and not his actual friend, but, well, Yuuri kind of likes pretending.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Victor**

* * *

 

**Early 2005**

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

 

After the Grand Prix Final Victor’s not sure whether he’s being stalked or not. Did he dream a kid, and if so, why? He can’t have been actually real…right? What kind of con artist of a kid could show up in his hotel room at competitions in two different parts of the world without any signs of tampering, and then disappear mid-conversation without a trace? Regardless, he’s so jumpy that he checks his lock multiple times and almost invites Georgi over to stay with him before Russian Nationals, but scraps that thought before it pops out of his mouth—Yakov would shoot them both if they had a sleepover before a competition, even if it didn’t turn into one of their all night movie and hair styling marathons.

The boy doesn’t show up, though, and when Palych and Ivanov take the spots for Europeans and Worlds, Victor’s so incensed that he forgets entirely about the boy in the sting of not getting to compete anymore until next season. Palych is understandable, but Ivanov? Really??? Just because Victor’s in his first year as a senior doesn’t mean he’s some inconsistent little _dork_ who doesn’t know how to handle himself in competition—he’d placed in the Junior World Championships both of the years he skated juniors, and broken a world record on his second go around, to boot!

He gets so lost in the drama and drive to prove himself next season that the boy doesn’t even cross his mind again until he’s preparing for the Nebelhorn Trophy and practicing what he’ll say in the international interviews when he wins, and then he gets to English and suddenly remembers an encouraging little voice chirping “don’t be disappointing!” while he’s in the middle of drinking a chocolate milk and chokes so hard it goes out his eyeball and then everything’s a hot mess. It was pretty funny, if a little weird. And creepy. Why would someone even want to sneak into his room in the first place?

He double locks the door, just in case.

The kid never shows.

Later he’s hanging out with Georgi and they’re talking about the GP series, and it’s funny really, it’s not like he even means to bring up the kid, except Georgi says something off-handed about wishing that he was competing in seniors too and how maybe he’ll secretly buy a ticket and just sneak into Victor’s hotel room to crash now that he isn’t planning on sharing with Yakov anymore, and then of course the thought of someone sneaking into his hotel room puts it back into his head and he has to blurt it out before he can forget it again, because like how weird is it? Did he dream that kid twice in a row, or was there actually some kid following him around, or maybe it was a mix, like some kid sneaking in the first time and then Victor dreaming about him later?

Georgi’s no help whatsoever, and Victor should have anticipated this, because of course Georgi is one hundred percent convinced it’s some sort of magical spell or fairy prince in disguise (or at least he’s throwing wishful thinking at Victor’s plight and hoping it sticks like pasta to a wall) and he’s not even a bit weirded out and anyway it’s all a kind of mess that leads to Victor at Skate America later suddenly wondering again whether there’s gonna be a kid showing up or not even though he’s been a ghost since the GPF last year.

And for that matter, if he does show up this time, whether it’s because he’s actually there or if it’s because he really is some sort of fairy prince or even if it’s just that Victor’s subconsciously thinking about him now and therefore dreaming about him. Again.

Figure skating is so much more confusing when you get beyond the actual skating.

 

—

 

**October 20-23, 2005**

**Skate America - Atlantic City, New Jersey, America**

 

The kid doesn’t show up in the days he spends in America before the competition, nor the days during the competition itself. Just regular fans and curious bystanders, and once, in his hotel room, a maid who’s checking to see if he needs new towels. Victor sighs, toying with his toothbrush as he slowly gets ready for bed. It’s probably for the best, at this point—if he doesn’t show up now then he doesn’t have to worry about it until _maybe_ the next time he’s in Japan, if he even remembers by then. Honestly it’s a surprise that Victor’s even remembered the kid as long as he has—if not for the whole breaking and entering thing he’d probably just be a distant twinkle in the past.

Except, then he’s packing up his gold medal in his luggage in preparation for the early flight tomorrow morning when he hears a rustle behind him and he turns around and there’s a boy standing just inside the entryway, gazing around at the hotel room with interest. It’s absolutely the same boy—it has to be. Even if Victor’s just about the worst person he knows at remembering faces, it’s a Japanese boy inside his hotel room when he’s supposed to be alone: who else could it be? The only problem now is the fact that Victor’s very definitely awake this time, which means that he’s not dreaming. He can’t be—it’s not like he has any reason to be hallucinating, which means the boy must be here for real.

Not that the boy has any reason to be here either, except for maybe stalking him. But really, though? A _kid_ stalking him with no adult help? Or, rather, with tons of adult help (not only traveling to three remote corners of the world, but also somehow letting himself in Victor’s hotel room with none the wiser)… and no visible adults to be found. This whole situation is completely unbelievable. Or rather…

The first question the kid ever answered, the _only_ question for that matter, was with a conspiratorial shrug and the word “magic.”

What if he wasn’t joking?

The kid bows, exposing the fact that the chain lock is still engaged in the door behind him. “Congratulations!”

Victor’s jaw drops. Is Georgi actually onto something with his theories surrounding the whole affair? Could this be some sort of magical spell, or fairy prince who’s somehow taken an interest in him? And if so, why Victor in particular? Why not some other skater? His mind combs through every event of the last year but comes back empty. There was nothing special in his skating or different about the season that could explain why he would suddenly become the focus of supernatural interest. He didn’t even break any world—

Any world records. Like he did the year before.

Skating the _Lilac Fairy._

Victor licks his lips. “What do you—” Something brushes his hair against the back of his neck and Victor whirls… to find the balcony door slightly cracked. Just a breeze.

Wait, seriously?? Now that he’s actually starting to believe Georgi he finds an actual explanation for how the kid might have gotten in? He whips around and the kid is gazing at the painting on the wall now. Is this a real person or not???

He can’t hold it back. “Are you real or not?”

The kid turns around with a wince and bites his lip, staring at Victor in consternation. Victor takes a few steps forward, “Because I warn you, I—” The boy is shaking his head now and pinching his own cheeks. “—what? Are you alright?”

He doesn’t respond.

Except… he’s never responded when Victor spoke to him in Russian, has he? He’s never used any Russian at all—only a smattering of French and English phrases, as well as what Victor assumed was Japanese. Victor switches to English.

“Are you okay?”

Just like that the boy springs back and throws a grin at Victor.

“I’m great! You’re even better, right?”

“Ah…”

“You’re a winner!!

Victor snorts, thinking about their last conversation. “Not disappointing, then?”

The kid is already shaking his head. “You are never disappointing. That’s why I wish to meet you!”

Why he wishes to meet Victor? Isn’t that what they’re doing now? He shouldn’t still be wishing it, unless… maybe he is talking about magic somehow after all? A past wish, or an ongoing one? Except it’s not really magical if he just snuck in the balcony door. For that matter, how high up did he even have to climb; isn’t Victor on the fourth floor? He opens his mouth to ask but the kid is bouncing around the room now, looking at all of his stuff. Which fits with the stalker thing, but then again if he is a stalker he might not be exactly honest about how he got in, right? He snaps his mouth shut and glances at the kid one more time before ducking out to the balcony for just a quick glimpse to see if he can spot any sort of rope or pulley system.

When he turns back around, the room is empty.

 

—

 

**October 27-30, 2005**

**Skate Canada International - St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada**

 

After Skate America all Victor wants to do is meet up with Georgi and analyze his latest encounter, but his other Grand Prix competition is Skate Canada and it’s only a week later, so he and Yakov just go straight to St. John’s from Atlantic City in an attempt to avoid jet lag. Living from one hotel room to another isn’t exactly fun, but it’s also not exactly out of the norm for him this time of year, plus there’s an intriguing air of mystery now that never existed before.

Because there weren’t any ropes hanging off the balcony, and the door was still latched via chain from the inside when Victor ran to check.

He switches rooms with Yakov this time, so that even the ones registered with the hotel are wrong. It doesn’t matter though—this time it’s the night before the free skate that it happens. Victor’s gone to bed early and he’s nearly asleep when suddenly he hears a noise, and it’s so frustratingly normal that for a brief moment he thinks Yakov’s accidentally come into this room after all, but when he opens his eyes to complain there’s a dark-haired shape standing at the window, facing away from Victor and far too small to be the hulking shape of his gruff coach. There’s no balcony to this room and the window doesn’t open. Victor’s eyes flick to the door and his suitcase is still on the floor in front of his door, halfway blocking it from opening and ready to trip any unwary entrees who somehow manage to figure out the locks and sneak through anyway.

It’s standing undisturbed.

“Did you…” He licks his lips. “Is this because of the Lilac Fairy?”

The boy turns around with an “oh!” of surprise. He shuffles a little bit closer, then wrings his hands together and steps back, shyly looking up at Victor through his bangs and nodding. “You were beautiful.”

Victor’s nose goes hot and the boy turns bright red. “I mean you are always beautiful! But that was… everything changed, then. When I saw you.”

Everything changed. Everything changed and this impossible boy turned around and somehow saw… what, through worlds? Victor skated the Lilac Fairy and somehow summoned his own lilac fairy and now he’s standing in a hotel room in the middle of nowhere staring at Victor and expecting things? _Has_ he ever asked for anything? Or is he just here to, to visit? To meet him? Not to eat him or enslave him, surely—he’s had plenty of opportunities for that already. The fairy is fidgeting in place and watching Victor’s face anxiously.

_Oh._

Victor tilts his head slightly to the side. “Do you… want to be my friend?”

The lights aren’t on in his hotel room anymore but the sheer force of the grin that follows is positively blinding as the kid wiggles in place like some sort of excited little bunny rabbit. “Can I?”

Victor can’t help but laugh along—the joy is infectious. “Sure, let’s be friends!”

He starts to reach out for a handshake when his jaw practically cracks from the force of an unexpected yawn and his hand flings up to cover his mouth instead. They both glance at the clock and Victor winces. It’s not exactly _too_ late, but, well… he does have to skate tomorrow and he prefers to go to bed early and wake early on skating days. Their eyes meet again and Victor shrugs in apology.

“I have to sleep now, though, is that okay? I have a competition tomorrow.”

The boy’s eyes go wide and he nods forcefully, babbling out an apology that Victor waves off as he lets himself sink back into the pillows. It’s been a long two weeks—he’s too tired to bother with figuring out how to say goodbye.

 

—

 

**December 16-18, 2005**

**Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final - Tokyo, Japan**

 

Now that their theory has been validated straight from the mouth of the horse himself, Victor needs to talk to Georgi again. Not that he takes like 50% of the advice he gets from him, but in this case it’s exactly the kind of advice he’ll need because if anybody knows about magical spells and fantastical situations it’s going to be Georgi, who’s about as fantastical as any one person can get and still somehow survive in the real world. Plus, he’s Victor’s best friend. He can’t keep anything from him; it would be cruel and unusual torture. They’ve shared literally every aspect of their lives, including birthdays, since they were four years old and started training under Coach Yakov’s tutelage within three weeks of each other. Victor knows when and where Georgi’s first (and second, and third) kiss was and every single detail of how it made him feel. Georgi’s helped compose the last five update letters Victor sent to his extended family at the end of each season. Whenever he figures out what, exactly, is going on and how it even happened in the first place, Georgi’s going to be right there next to him (if not several steps either ahead or completely off base). Which is why this will be the main topic Victor brings to their next sleepover.

Except.

Except when he tries Georgi just laughs at him. Not because he doesn’t believe that Victor’s been visited by fairies—he’s 100% on board with that.

No, Georgi laughs because somehow, after four whole visits, Victor still doesn’t know his fairy’s name.

Which is, by the way, under no circumstances Victor’s fault! He can’t control when the kid pops in and out of being, and even if they did have a real conversation in Canada, it was really their first one when it comes down to it, and Victor was just a little distracted by having to skate the next day. And also by being half asleep the whole time. Georgi doesn’t see it that way though, and spends about twenty minutes laughing so hard he can’t even finish braiding Victor’s hair, with which Victor makes sure to express his dissatisfaction by tugging rather harder than necessary when it comes time for him to do Georgi’s.

Anyway, what it all boils down to is that Victor walks into the Grand Prix Final with one plan on his mind, which is to find out his fairy’s name. If only so Georgi can stop ribbing him. Well, also because it would be nice to know when he’s thinking about him, rather than just visualizing his face and calling him ‘the boy’ or ‘his fairy’ or whatever. Except Victor’s literally fast asleep when he shows up, and by the time the fog has cleared away from his brain, his new friend is already going off faster than a startled rabbit about a ballet he just saw for Christmas, and Victor doesn’t really know what’s going on, but suddenly he’s learning ballet terms and watching a mini-demonstration, which leads to a confession that he doesn’t watch ballet, which in turn morphs into an explanation that it’s not that he _hates_ ballet because of course he _respects_ it as a figure skater but his favorite thing is really opera, and then somehow he’s giving his own impromptu demonstration which doesn’t work nearly as well because he can’t sing worth beans and they’re both laughing at his terrible rendition when they see the sun cresting the horizon and both realize that Victor needs to get actual sleep at the same time… and then he’s waking up.

Still nameless.

Victor grimaces and squints out the window, wondering how long can he get away with avoiding Georgi and the inevitable ribbing that will arise from his still not knowing his fairy’s name. Really, as long as he sees him next competition it will be fine, right?

 

—

 

**January 5-8, 2006**

**Russian Figure Skating Championships - St. Petersburg, Russia**

 

His fairy is a no-show at Russian Nationals. And it’s not like Victor’s angry with him—it’s _not_ —it’s just that it’s already turning out to be a pretty terrible month and it’s the least he could do to show up because _apparently nobody else does._ And when they _don’t_ show up, they shouldn’t be allowed to take away spots the next year from hard-working skaters like Victor, especially when it’s _their fault in the first place_ that Russia only gets one spot at the Olympics this year. And Worlds, but who cares about that when it’s the _Olympics_??

And no matter how many times Victor tells Georgi he’s just upset and not taking it as a personal insult that Palych didn’t make top ten at Worlds last year, Georgi doesn’t believe him (probably because it’s true at least a little bit, but it still pisses him off when Georgi gives him that _look_ ). If the bumbling moron had at least broken something that wouldn’t put him back on the ice in a year that would be marginally better, but instead it was just enough to throw off one competition and the beginning of the off season and nothing more, and then he had the gall to come back instead of retiring like he’d originally planned anyway, just so he could ‘go out with a vengeance’ or some nonsense and it’s not _fair_ because Victor’s been neck and neck with him all year and it’s his fault that there aren’t two spots, one for each of them.

(Both Georgi and Yakov at least have the sense not to bring up Ivanov, who took the other Russian spot at Worlds last year and slunk away into obscurity like the little rat he was after failing to even make it all the way through the qualifying rounds. Ivanov’s not the problem here, anyway; it’s Palych who should be doing what he did now.)

Georgi begins tucking flowers into Victor’s crown braid and changes the subject.

“Are you sure he’s not just… late?”

“Gosha, he comes for competitions and the banquet was yesterday. The competition is over. He’s done with me; I’m not impressive enough anymore.”

Georgi clucks. “That’s not true and you know it, Vitya.”

“Then why wouldn’t he come?” Victor draws his knees up and rests his chin on them, uncaring of the tug it causes as Georgi’s hands get tangled in his hair at the sudden shift. “I should have ignored Yakov and put the extra quad in anyway.”

“Yeah, and broken your ankle like Yevgeniy.”

Victor jerks out of Georgi’s hold, spinning to stick a finger in his face. “You take that back, Popovich, I’m NOTHING like him!”

Georgi rolls his eyes, grabbing Victor’s braid like the handlebars of a bike and using it to turn him around and push him back to a seat on the floor. “Maybe he didn’t come because there’s a limit to the magic.”

A limit to the magic? Victor narrows his eyes at the wall. It didn’t seem like there were any limits in Tokyo, and he’d even come to Victor one more time this year than last year. Although he didn’t come to Russian Nationals last year either.

“Like he can’t come to Russia?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s a liminal space thing—when you’re home you’re comfortable and… entrenched. Like a grounded wire. But when you’re traveling, you’re already existing in a sort of limbo, where you’re uprooted and everything, so it’s easier to breach the barrier between worlds to get to you.” Victor blinks at him a couple of times and Georgi shrugs. “Or maybe Russia is too far north for him to reach?”

Victor begins to agree but stops himself as he remembers the other competitions from earlier this year, which he also didn’t show up at. Georgi clearly comes to the realization at the same time as him because he continues right as Victor opens his mouth to point that out. “Or… maybe it’s an ISU thing? Or even just a Grand Prix thing? You can’t deny that there’s a little more weight behind those competitions than the other ones. Maybe they give off more of an aura for him to find.”

Georgi has a point, but it also reminds Victor of Palych and not getting to go to Worlds or the Olympics, which would have been really great, not just to skate at but now also to test his theories, and it sets him off again. By then Georgi’s done with the whole conversation, and he bans Victor from talking or moving around for the next hour while they finish their movie. Which is absolutely unfair because Georgi _knows_ he needs to ask questions when he gets distracted and forgets to pay attention, but at least it gets him out of admitting that he still doesn’t know his fairy’s name, so he guesses he’ll put up with it for now.

After all, they both know there’s no way he’ll let this go as easily as all that.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

* * *

**Chapter 3: Yuuri**

* * *

 

 

**November 3-5, 2006**

**Skate Canada International - Victoria, British Columbia, Canada**

 

This year fully belongs to skating for Yuuri. It’s his first year in Juniors and even though he doesn’t really have any more big competitions to go to by the time November rolls around, he can look back on an exciting season. Japan even sent him to the Junior Grand Prix Chinese Taipei Cup last month, which was such a cool experience! He got to try so many new foods and see new sights, and he even placed (which was wild because he really wasn’t expecting to get anything at all). Plus, now that he knows he can place, he’s already promised to himself that he’s going to get first next year so he can make it one step closer to Seniors and Victor.

Speaking of Victor, his first Grand Prix competition is this weekend: Skate Canada International. It’s not his first competition of the season, but only the Grand Prix Series is televised in Hasetsu so Yuuri just followed the results of the others online. Unfortunately there weren’t any videos posted, so he’s getting antsy to see what Victor’s actual programs look like instead of just reading descriptions. Hopefully by next year one of the video sharing sites will jump on board and start pulling through for all the figure skating fans out there.

The rink itself has a site though, as does the hotel, so Yuuri’s been poring over the pictures in advance to help him visualize everything there. After all, he could be staying in this hotel (potentially even while Victor’s there) and skating on this very rink in just a few short years!

The pictures from the internet also help him visualize what Victor’s hotel room might look like, which comes in handy when he wakes up the morning before the competition and doesn’t want to get out of bed just yet: it’s the perfect time to practice at meeting Victor since they’re about twelve hours off, and the room he imagines is going to be so accurate this time! He can’t remember what artwork was hanging in the photos online, but he knows where it was and hotels probably have a bit of variation in pictures anyway. It was all done up in primary colors and sharp angles, so he pictures something suitably modern and calls it a day. It’s still pretty fulfilling that he can visualize something so close to Victor’s actual room in the first place.

It’s earlier than Yuuri usually likes to be awake so Victor might not be asleep just yet, although he’s said in several interviews that he’s an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of person. Yuuri shudders at the thought; thank goodness he doesn’t have to keep to Victor’s schedule! Never in a thousand years will he start waking up with the sun. Anyway, he decides to compromise and visualize the bed with a nest of pillows already prepared, but Victor sitting up in the middle of them. He’s probably got a laptop by now, so maybe he’s got it sitting in his lap, the glow of the screen reflecting off his hair like the light of the full moon.

Victor looks up. “Aha! So you _are_ here!”

Yuuri smiles and gives a cheeky bow. “Here I am!”

Skate Canada’s exciting (every skating competition is), but it hasn’t technically even begun yet, so Yuuri doesn’t get to congratulate Victor on winning anything yet. Not that there’s any doubt he will—every single magazine article and website that’s mentioned him since last year has been vocal about the fact that Victor’s the clear front-runner to take over as the face of Russian skating now that Moskvin is retired. Yuuri mentions that to this version of Victor, though he also rushes to assure him that he was already on equal footing with Moskvin in Yuuri’s heart, even though he didn’t get to go to the Olympics this year.

Victor blushes, right at the tip of his nose (exactly the way Yuuri saw in one of his first televised interviews), and thanks him. Yuuri scuffs his foot and looks down to the ground, blushing a little himself at the idea that his idol might be thanking _him_ for anything, especially when it was deserved praise. He frowns. It _was_ deserved praise. He looks up again, catching Victor’s eye.

“Really, it’s unfair you didn’t get to go! You’re already better than most of the other skaters that went—they should have made some sort of, of special thing for Russia to get to send someone else.”

Victor snaps the lid on his laptop shut and sets it aside, leaning forward with an intent look on his face. “I know, right?? I was _so_ pissed!”

“You would have gotten first or second place, for sure!”

Victor grins at him, then grimaces, and because he’s probably more humble than people think, corrects him. “Second, probably. Palych—Moskvin, I mean, he _was_ really good. Better than me…for now, at least.”

Right, of course Victor would call him something else. He’d nearly forgotten how Russians are with nicknames, throwing them around like rapidly-multiplying confetti. Anyway, Yuuri nods in understanding. Victor is really mature so of course he would be realistic about skating levels, and Moskvin or whatever the Russians call him was super impressive—he landed the first Quad Salchow at the Olympics ever! If Yuuri could do any quad it would definitely be the Salchow. It’s the most beautiful jump.

“You’ll break records too, next time!”

Victor’s grin is sharp and fierce this time, and a burning light ignites behind his eyes. “I’ll be the first ever Quad Flip in competitions long before next Olympics, but sure, I can do it there too.”

Yuuri sticks out his tongue. “Not the others?”

Victor’s already got the Lutz and the Salchow, so he chucks one of his pillows in Yuuri’s direction at the ribbing.

“You know what I mean!! But Flip is my favorite, so of course it’s next.” Victor’s always been open about the fact that the Flip is his favorite jump, and Yuuri’s pretty sure he’s landed it in practices already at least once, so it makes sense. “But anyway, his program really was steps beyond the level it was at in competition last season, and he deserved to be there, I guess.”

“I loved the way it all flowed—it was like his body turned all the way into water on the ice!!”

“Right??” Victor clambers to his knees, knocking one of the pillows off the bed in the process as he flings his arms around. “And his fire, in the short program, it was so _passionate!_ I thought for sure he was about to melt the very ice he stood on, or maybe drift like sparks into the air!! That’s what I want to do in my routines: give people those sorts of feelings where they can’t even tell what’s real and what’s not because my skating is so intense!”

Yuuri nods fervently. He feels the same way, even though he’s nowhere near that sort of level yet. “My ballet teacher talks about that all the time, about the… the picture you paint with your body. How you need to make it so that it exists everywhere, and not just in your heart.”

Someday he’ll be able to skate like Moskvin did, and Victor already does, and the pictures he creates in his soul will touch the world for real.

Victor sinks down, clutching a pillow to his chest. “It’s nice to be able to talk like this with you. All my teammates would just give me a hard time because they know I don’t like Palych.”

“Well he’s your biggest rival, right? And… wasn’t he the one who was supposed to earn Russia more spots last year? And then he took the only one?” Of course Victor wouldn’t be able to talk to his friends about Moskvin—no matter how well he did they’d probably feel like Victor wasn’t passionate about the sport if he cheered him on instead of getting angry or beating himself up about the fact that Moskvin went to the Olympics instead of him.

They talk for a while after that about the other Olympic skaters they’d enjoyed, and then Yuuri’s mom starts calling him for breakfast so he waves at Victor and wishes him luck on his competition tomorrow. It’s probably about time for Victor to go to sleep anyway, and Yuuri wouldn’t want to be interrupting him or hanging out at the cost of getting a good night’s rest before skating if he were actually there, so it makes sense to go now. He’ll see Victor again soon enough on TV anyway!

 

—

 

**November 16-18, 2006**

**Trophée Eric Bompard - Paris, France**

   

Yuuri hasn’t learned much beyond the basic greetings he was taught two years ago, but he still greets Victor in French when he imagines him at the Trophée Eric Bompard, and receives the same greetings back in return. Luckily, this time he’s got his brain solidified in English as the default language between them, and so it’s smooth enough to imagine Victor switching back to that instead of going on in vaguely French-sounding gobbledygook. Which he does with a grin.

Yuuri’s been reading up on France a little, even if he hasn’t studied any more of the language—they eat a lot and kiss a lot and everyone’s very glamorous, and even if Yuuri eats a lot and Victor is very glamorous, he’s _definitely_ not planning on kissing him, so there’s not much they have in common with each other that can relate back to France. He wanders over to the window and looks out, supposing that the greetings will have to do until he spots a sign with a puppy on it below and involuntarily exclaims.

“Puppies!”

Victor climbs out of bed and joins him, looking out at the dark street. There aren’t many people wandering about due to the hour, but the street’s all lit up anyway, and Yuuri points out the sign, hopping a little on the balls of his feet. “I love puppies!”

“That’s just a store for food and clothes.”

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. What a waste. Are they even dog food and clothes, or just people clothes? No, they can be anything he wants—why would he get all excited and then just let himself down like this?

“But,” Victor winks at him, “when I went in they had a whole litter of them up for adoption. I put one on reserve to pick up when the competition is over!”

Yuuri’s jaw drops. “Victor, you’re in _France!_ What are you supposed to do with it? What is your coach going to say?”

Victor just waves his hands around like he can pooh-pooh the questions out of existence. “Yakov is used to me by now. He’ll be angry but he can deal with it—they’re just so _cute!!_ How can I resist a cute face with big eyes looking soulfully up at me?”

Yuuri stares at Victor in shock.

Victor twists a shoulder around like he’s trying to hide behind it, looking down at Yuuri with a pout.

What, does he actually think Yuuri has the power to stop him? Yuuri laughs. This was unplanned, but it is kind of fun to imagine Victor having at least one weakness where he loses all maturity like a normal teen. Plus, it’s really fun to be the bossy one for once, instead of having to do whatever his family or teacher or coach says. Mari’s the worst offender there—why does she get to tell him everything to do just because she’s a little bit older?

“What will you do when you’re traveling for competitions? Puppies need care, you know.”

“I share a dorm right now. Georgi can watch it when I’m traveling and then it can keep me company when he’s away.”

“What about when you don’t share a dorm?”

“Then I’ll have enough money for a house and therefore enough money for a sitter. Or Georgi can come over and stay with it anyway.”

Yuuri drops his face into his hands and shakes his head. Victor ignores him and starts showing off the notes he’s already taken on what he needs to do to get it back to Russia. Apparently he’s under the impression that if he waits to tell his coach until after everything is arranged then it’s a lot harder to cancel. He’s not wrong.

Of course he’s not wrong—Yuuri’s making this all up so whatever he thinks should work will work. Yuuri rolls his eyes at himself. It’s fun to imagine though, so he lets the situation carry him away until it’s time to stop again.

He thinks that’s the end of it, but not two weeks later there’s an article that comes out about Victor’s new poodle Makkachin, and isn’t that a wild coincidence, right after daydreaming about Victor wanting one? He must be getting to know Victor pretty well if he could predict that he might actually get a dog. Then again, maybe it’s not all that strange… Yuuri does, after all, keep track of every single piece of news he can get his hands on concerning Victor; it’s natural that he would start to know some things about the other skater’s personality. Maybe Victor picked a puppy plush to cuddle with after one of his programs, or mentioned something about dogs in an interview that Yuuri read once upon a time.

 

—

 

**December 14-17, 2006**

**Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final - Turin, Italy**

 

By the time Victor goes to Turin for the GP Final, Yuuri’s spent about three weeks straight reading everything he can on French poodles. He’s been in love with puppies for forever, but it’s only been in the generic sense. Now that Victor’s got one it’s much more exciting, and he’s positive that he’ll have to get a poodle too someday so that when they actually meet they can talk about their dogs. For now, he’s content to be a willing listener—Victor’s probably got loads of stories already.

Victor absolutely does have loads of stories, some of which are ridiculously normal and literally done by every dog, but just because it’s Victor telling them and he’s clearly over the moon about her, Yuuri still loves listening. Because Victor absolutely would go wild over every tiny little thing about his puppy; even the real one has shown hints of that, and the personality that his dream-Victor has slowly been developing (you can’t get _every_ detail about someone’s life from interviews, after all) definitely has. Anyway, Victor’s stories are more than enough to take up the whole night, and even though the real Victor would probably want to hear Yuuri talk as well (he does at one point try to stop himself and apologize to Yuuri for monopolizing the conversation), Yuuri is content not to talk about himself or his absolute lack of dog at the moment. Besides, he loves puppies so much, of course he would want to dream about all the cute things one would get up to.

Anyway, they do end up talking about Makkachin the whole time, except for at the end when Victor starts asking him about Nationals and Europeans and Worlds, and Yuuri remembers that he’s got Japan’s Junior Figure Skating Championships coming up on the same weekend as Russian Nationals, and he just ends up awkwardly telling Victor that he’ll watch if he can and then saying goodbye and basically ending the daydream right there.

 

—

 

**January 4-7, 2007**

**Japan Junior Figure Skating Championships - Hiroshima, Japan**

**(Russian Figure Skating Championships - Moscow, Russia)**

 

He doesn’t end up getting to watch Victor at the Russian Figure Skating Championships because he’s too busy preparing for his own competition, but he does have a funny encounter related to it: as he’s getting ready to go to the train station with Minako-sensei, he runs into an old couple moving in a couple of houses down. Yuuri actually remembers them—they joined in on his birthday celebrations a few years back, and to his surprise they remember him too. The husband even mentions Victor (although he thinks he’s an actual friend of Yuuri’s) and asks if Yuuri will meet him at Russian Nationals.

It’s potentially the most mortifying situation of his entire life. He knows he’s a fan of Victor, but is he so obsessed that people actually think he _knows_ him? Or was he just that much of a dork back when he was twelve?? He awkwardly opens and closes his mouth for a few moments like a fish out of water as he tries to figure out how to correct him (and isn’t that just the worst too: trying to correct an old man), but luckily his wife intercedes before Yuuri can start trying to explain that he’s somehow given them the wrong idea and that he doesn’t actually know Victor, waving her hand in front of her husband’s face and exclaiming that Yuuri isn’t Russian and he’ll see Victor at Worlds.

…Come to think of it, she might think they’re friends too. Annd now they’re both looking at him expectantly.

He smiles and shifts his feet, opening his mouth to explain… and then gives them a wobbly bow and exclaims that he thinks he hears his mom calling before turning around and running away.

He’s not proud, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

 

—

 

**March 20-25, 2007**

**World Figure Skating Championships - Tokyo, Japan**

 

Funnily enough, the World Championships this year are in Japan, so technically Yuuri could actually see Victor there like his neighbors think… if he were rich, that is. But he’s not, so he’ll be watching on the TV in the Onsen as usual. Yuuko does suggest getting a hotel room and going to Tokyo anyway and just trying to spot Victor (or any other great skaters) in the street, but if they can’t afford tickets to watch Victor compete in person then why bother seeking him out? It just feels like a cop-out. He’s already cheating enough at the whole “meeting Victor” thing by talking to him like an imaginary friend on a regular basis; he doesn’t want to see the real one until he can step on the same ice as him and prove himself as Victor’s contemporary in competition. Until then, Victor exists in another atmosphere, and that’s just how it’s going to be.

Still, it’s nice to think that the air Victor’s breathing right now might be the same air Yuuri is. Victor is here in Japan, and if there’s anything Yuuri wants as much as he wants to compete against him, it’s for Victor to love Yuuri’s home as much as he does. And so, if he were competing at Worlds right now, he would absolutely make it his priority to show Victor as much as he could.

Unfortunately he doesn’t actually know the city all that well: it’s seven hours away by bullet train, and so he’s really only been once, for a family trip to Disney. He hasn’t even competed there yet—there are rinks scattered throughout the country, and there are still several Yuuri hasn’t made it to at all. But if there’s one thing Yuuri knows that will be still be good no matter where in Japan he goes, it’s the food.

“Japan really loves baseball, huh,” Victor says as he looks out the window of his hotel. It’s right next to the Meiji Jingu Stadium, so he can probably see right down into it. “I don’t know anything about baseball.”

Yuuri laughs awkwardly. “I don’t either.”

It’s just one more thing that designates him as an outsider among his classmates; skating and dance have taken too much of his life up to even get a moment to sit and watch a game, let alone join a school club. The closest he’s gotten is a few times on class field days where everyone was forced to participate, and he made such a fool of himself that even the pitcher on the opposing team came over to apologize afterward, bringing him a water and hanging out with him while the other sports continued, like he was some sort of baby who needed watching over. Clearly his teammates agreed, since half of them spent the rest of the day glaring at the pitcher. They probably thought he was too embarrassing to have someone being that nice to him.

He shakes himself out of the memory, focusing back on what he’d been daydreaming about teaching Victor. “I do know food, though!”

“Really?” Victor hops back on the bed, sitting cross-legged atop the covers. “Now you’re making me want a midnight snack! What’s your favorite?”

“Katsudon, of course. It’s the best! You should eat it tomorrow.”

Victor shudders. “Try something new on the day I compete? Why would I do something like that??”

“Well…” Yuuri shouldn’t have suggested it, of course Victor wouldn’t want to try something new when he skates; not everyone is a laissez-faire as Yuuri when it comes to matters of the stomach. “It’s… um… well it means that you’ll win.” Yuuri sighs, suddenly hearing himself. “But of course you’ll win anyway, won’t you? You probably don’t need some superstitious good luck charm to help.”

Victor rests his elbow on his knee and his cheek in his hand, smiling at Yuuri’s awkwardness. “I might not. You never know! But if I do win, does the meaning still hold if I eat the Katsu-thing after I’m done?”

Yuuri takes the out gratefully. “Yes, of course! You can definitely eat it in celebration!”

“Great! What is it? There’s no snails involved, right? I won’t eat snails.”

“What, snails?? Why would there be—no, katsudon is pork! Rice and pork cutlet and egg, and just wait until you try it, Victor, it’s the best! Well, I mean, you won’t get the _best_ best because that’s my mom’s, but even katsudon from a restaurant is the perfect way to celebrate!”

“I feel the same way!” Victor grins at him. “My papa makes the best vatrushka in celebration and I used to always try and order it at restaurants, but it was never quite the same, so now I save it for when I’m visiting home.”

“Not for when you win?”

“I win too much to eat it all the time—I’d get fat!”

Yuuri blushes at the thought. It’s the exact reason why he only eats katsudon after he wins now, although that was Minako-sensei’s decision and not his own. She says it’s a good incentive to win, and hopefully Yuuri never reaches the point where she won’t allow him to eat it after he wins either. Not that he doesn’t want to win, though—he just wants both. Is that too much to ask for? Imagining that Victor would also choose to limit himself like that might make it easier for him to deal with the loss, but he’d rather imagine that his conditioning will be enough by then to let him keep eating his mom’s katsudon.

After all, what’s the point of dreaming if you can’t imagine everything you’ve ever wanted?

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Victor**

* * *

 

**April, 2007**

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

****

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I need to ask his name. It doesn’t matter if it’s awkward by now, that will just get worse the longer I go.” Victor pauses his pacing, turning to Georgi, who’s lying on the couch with Makkachin on his chest even though they’ve discovered over the course of the last several months that he’s deathly allergic. Georgi purses his lips and lets his head fall to the side so he can watch Victor. Makka licks his chin. “Right? I mean, I have to ask. I  _ need _ to! You have to remind me before my first competition next season.”

Georgi blocks the puppy with his arm and sneezes twice in succession. “You can’t!!”

“What?! But you’ve been making fun of me this whole time for not asking!”

“Yes, but what if it’s part of the curse?”

Victor throws his hands up and drops onto the couch, picking Georgi’s feet up and plopping them in his lap as he reaches out for Makka. She squirms out of Georgi’s current hold and clambers over to perch on his shins, turning her attention to Victor’s hair. “Tell me then, Oh Wise One, why would it be part of the curse?”

“Well, has he offered it? Wouldn’t someone who wanted you to know his name have made sure to tell you again if he realized you weren’t using it?”

He has a point. Why wouldn’t his fairy have told him his name long ago? Just because Victor keeps forgetting to ask doesn’t mean that he doesn’t  _ want _ to know. And the boy’s been using his name, so it’s clearly not a Thing against names in general. Unless…  _ Does _ he think that Victor doesn’t care? Does he even care enough about Victor to have noticed that he’s not using his name? Or are Victor and Georgi just blowing this whole thing out of proportion?

Victor fiddles with Makka’s ears.

“But what if it’s not a curse at all and I’m just being silly?”

Georgi sighs and nudges Victor’s knee with his heel. Makka grumbles at the movement below her. “You’re not being silly. How can he be appearing to you at all if there’s not  _ some _ sort of magic involved?”

“Well what am I supposed to do then? Ask him if I’m allowed to ask? That seems a little weird…”

Georgi shrugs. “Why not just give him a nickname? If he doesn’t like it he can tell you his real name then, and if he doesn’t correct you, then you’ll know it really is a curse.”

“Okay… so am I just supposed to come up with a nickname out of nowhere?”

“Oh my God, Vitya, just name him after something he does a lot, or something he looks like, I don’t know!!”

“Not after a fairy tale? Shouldn’t I call him like Ivan or Vasilisa or something?”

Georgi jack-knifes forward, clapping a hand over Victor’s mouth. His rebuke comes out in a harsh whisper. “Don’t even think about it, you idiot! Names have  _ power _ for fairies; you can’t just give him one of the classics—what if it comes with a weight you aren’t ready to deal with? What if it invites someone to take you away, too?? Even if this kid means no harm, you can’t go calling negative attention upon your meetings like that. You don’t even know who cursed him!”

Makka yips in agreement and abandons Victor’s hair to start chewing on Georgi’s. Victor gently fishes it out of her mouth and gathers her up to his chest protectively. He hadn’t thought of it like that.

“ _ So, _ what does he look like,” Georgi prompts.

“He’s… got big cheeks and fluffy hair? And he’s always bouncing around like a cute little bunny rabbit… what if I call him Zayka?”

“Perfect.” Georgi settles back down. “It’s a nice generic nickname that lots of people use already, so you should be able to easily slip in among them.”

Victor nods slowly. He’s not entirely sure he’s convinced but it all  _ seems _ to make sense. Besides, his friend will let him know if he doesn’t like it.

Right?

****

—

****

**November 8-11, 2007**

**Cup of China - Harbin, China**

****

It takes a while for Victor to get up the courage to call his friend by the new name—he’s mildly terrified of how he’ll react, for one, and to be honest, it’s often more natural for him not to use names anyway. He’s generally so bad at remembering them that it’s just easier to find ways around using them at all than to maybe get it wrong and offend people or make them cry, so he really only uses them regularly with his closest of companions, like Georgi and Yakov.

Anyway, he forgets to use it right away, which would have been an easy place to really just shove it right in, so he ends up spending a good several minutes only partially listening to what his fairy is saying and mostly just listening for places where it would be fitting for him to respond with something that also includes the new nickname.

When he finally does get a chance to use it, he goes a little too forcefully and it falls slightly flat on his ears, but the other boy just blinks a few times and then gives him a crooked smile. He doesn’t correct Victor though, or give any indication that he’s not happy with it except for the minor hesitation upon first use. Which means… well, acceptance is the only conclusion Victor can come to. He’d rather have Victor call him Zayka than by his real name, whatever that is. Or if he’d rather go by his real name, for some reason he can’t.

Which also means that the curse theory must be right. That’s horrible! What kind of monster puts a curse on a kid like that, where the only person he can call for help is some random teenager halfway around the world—or even in another world, considering Victor doesn’t know if Zayka’s actually in Japan, or if Japan is just the place where their worlds happen to touch each other, blurring the boundaries between and allowing him to reach across them to Victor. That is, if his assumptions about the boy being Japanese are even correct (although he feels like they are—he doesn’t know Japanese all that well but he at least recognizes the sound of it, plus the first place they met was in Japan, and Zayka’s favorite food is that pork thing, katsudon).

He sprinkles the nickname in twice more throughout the night as a test, but Zayka doesn’t even react the other two times beyond a slight pinkish cast to his cheeks, going on smoothly like he’s used to being called it already, or at least by names not his own. But then, of course, fairies usually are.

****

—

****

**November 29-December 2, 2007**

**NHK - Sendai, Japan**

****

Zayka’s nearly bouncing off the walls the next time they see each other, and it certainly confirms that Victor picked the right nickname for him. He hardly waits for Victor to say hello before he’s hopping up to kneel at the end of his bed with a wide grin.

“How is Makka doing?”

Victor narrows his eyes. “That’s not really what you want to talk about, is it?” He’s far too excited to be asking about Makka, not when Victor regales him with stories on the regular anyway. Victor’s proven right when he laughs in response.

“Maybe I want you to guess what I want to talk about; did you ever think of that?”

Now  _ this _ is new! Victor rolls to his knees as well, leaning forward and analyzing Zayka’s face for hints of what he wants to talk about. There’s nothing really to go on, except for a barely-contained excitement that keeps flickering from the edges of his mouth to the corners of his eyes to the wiggle in his shoulders, much like Makka when she gets to cuddle with him after a long day away.

Like Makka… or like Victor when he’s headed home to cuddle with her. And hadn’t Zayka just asked about her? What new topic would make him lead in with a question about Makka…?

Victor gasps. “You got a puppy!!”

Zayka’s face lights up, and he claps several times. “I got a puppy!”

Unbidden, Victor’s mouth shoots into the widest grin ever, and he claps as well, letting loose a barrage of questions about the puppy’s name and age and breed and when he got it. How cool will it be for Makka to have a friend once they finally meet each other? Zayka laughs and gestures for him to slow down.

“I just got him today; he’s a little poodle—like Makka, except smaller!”

“I love the tiny poodles!! That’s so fitting: you can be tiny together!”

Zayka flushes and crosses his arms. “I’m not  _ that _ tiny… and besides, my slow growth spurt is perfect for adjusting to the changes gradually.”

Come to think of it, Victor doesn’t actually know how old Zayka is in the first place. He looks like some sort of young teen, but come to think of it he’s kind of always looked like a kid or young teen in some form or another. Like, he’s changed from year to year but not all that much.  _ Is _ he tiny for his age? And for that matter, do fairies even age the same as humans anyway? Although… Victor doesn’t even really know how to estimate ages of normal people, so it’s not like that would change things. He shrugs to himself. It’s a dilemma for another time. For now, puppies!!

“What are you going to name him?”

“Well I was  _ thinking _ about naming him Victor,” Zayka levels an arch look at him, “but maybe I won’t, now that you’re being a meanie.”

“What?? No!!!” Victor scrambles to backtrack. “You look just fine and you would be perfect with a big or small poodle!! You should name him Victor; it’s the best name!!”

Zayka dissolves in laughter. “That’s the exact look he gave me when I took away his squeaky toy this afternoon… Maybe I should after all. You’re clearly made of the same ingredients.”

“Right? He can watch over you between meetings and part of me will be with you always!” It doesn’t dawn on Victor that he’s agreeing with—and even fighting for—the fact that he looks just like a dog until Zayka nearly falls off the end of the bed as the laughter completely overcomes him. It’s too late to recover from now, but he makes a silent promise to himself to never tell Georgi about this moment.

The rest of their meeting is constantly interrupted by snickers as Zayka apparently finds even more reasons why Victor and his new puppy are soulmates, and he doesn’t even think about the rest of the year until they’ve already said their goodbyes. It’s an afterthought that catches him, and Zayka’s already fading, but he’s never visited Victor in Russia before so he really wants to know in advance.

“Hey, wait! Are you going to be at the Final?”

Zayka turns scarlet, and then slightly green as he nods. “Wish me luck?”

Victor nods back absently as he tries to make sense of the non-sequitur. It’s not until Zayka’s fully gone that he realizes what he’s just agreed to.

Why should Zayka need luck to come to him in Russia? Is it really as hard as Georgi postulates?

Has he just unknowingly forced his friend to agree to attempt something potentially dangerous??

****

—

****

**December 14-17, 2007**

**Grand Prix Final of Figure Skating - Saint Petersburg, Russia**

****

Victor spends the next two weeks fretting over the fact that he might have consigned Zayka to some sort of peril, and Georgi’s so over the moon about his new girlfriend that Victor can’t bring himself to drag him down by dumping his own struggle over Georgi’s current excitement. Instead, he suffers in silence, praying that it’s just that Russia’s difficult to get to because it’s too far north or something, or because it’s not a liminal space or whatever, since it’s at Victor’s home rink. It doesn’t help when he’s crashed on the couch with Georgi and Makka watching a movie and he looks at the bad guy and suddenly remembers Georgi warning him against inviting negative attention from whoever cursed Zayka, and he realizes that he hasn’t even considered the fact that where there’s a curse there’s a bad guy, and maybe that was the thing Zayka needed luck to get around.

He latches onto Christophe as a distraction when he arrives in Russia: he’s a senior now too, and they hung out enough in juniors that it’s a natural next step to fan the flames of friendship yet again now that they’re seniors together. The fact that he’s single too is a bonus; Victor’s sick and tired of listening to promise ring talk when he’s trying to worry in peace.

Not that he should be trying to worry at all.

No matter how tempting it is.

Seriously though, it’s so annoying having to constantly remind himself to relax! Like, it’s a ridiculously bad idea to stay awake until Zayka comes (especially considering he sometimes doesn’t show up until the middle of the night or even close to morning, not to mention the fact that the actual day he appears on can vary as well), but somehow he still wants to? Imagine not sleeping a wink over the course of several days and then trying to go out there for a full long program!

All over some dumb wish for luck? He probably just messed up the English and meant to wish Victor luck instead. Or Victor just misheard and went over the top thinking up ridiculous situations.

Anyway, by the time Zayka shows up he’s mostly just pissed at himself for blowing things out of proportion, which makes it worse when he looks at the other boy and finds that he was right to worry after all—Zayka’s a hot mess. He’s pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders are slumped and strained as though he’s fighting an immense weight. The guilt punches Victor in the gut like a physical fist. Why did he have to ask about coming at all?? He should have just told him that it would be okay if it was going to be too hard to come and left it at that!

Zayka tries to shrug it off when Victor asks if he’s okay, changing the subject to skating like he thinks that will throw him off the scent.

“Did you watch the Junior Grand Prix Final last weekend?”

“Zayka, I never watch juniors. Stop trying to distract me—are you okay? Is this too difficult for you?”

“It’s not! I can do it! I just, it was one—” He cuts himself off and changes the subject back to skating yet again. “Anyway, you don’t, you didn’t see the results? For the JGPF?”

Fine, Victor will play along. He sighs. “No, I did not. Do you want me to look them up now, so we have something to talk about?”

“No!” Zayka dives forward like he can physically stop him. “I, I was just making conversation. Because… they’ll be combined next year?”

It’s clear that Zayka’s stuck on the flat of his blade right now due to whatever’s going on with the struggle to break through to Russia. Victor shifts closer, watching him like the rabbit he’s named after, careful to avoid any sudden movements and startle him. Zayka twists the edge of his shirt in his hands, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s right,” Victor says slowly, softly, babbling nonsense like he would to a trapped animal. “We’re all going to be together next year.”

He reaches out to grasp Zayka’s hand and maybe calm him down a bit (or at least save the shirt), but the other boy squeaks and pulls away, turning wide eyes on Victor. He starts backing up, twisting his shirt even more violently.

“I’m sorry, Victor… I’ll… I’m tired. I’m sure you’ll do great though; you’d never let your fans down.”

Before Victor knows it he’s standing alone again.

****

—

****

**January, 2008**

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

****

“Something happened when I tried to touch him; it was like total panic, Gosha.”

“That’s horrible!” Georgi ties off the end of Victor’s last braid and begins tucking it into the twist. “And you said he was also struggling just to reach you, right?”

Victor nods, his own brush stilling in Makka’s hair as he thinks back on Zayka’s last appearance. “He looked like total crap.”

“There’s definitely something going on with that curse.”

“Do you think he’ll ever be able to come to Russia again?” Victor gasps, another thought overcoming Russia in his mind. “Oh my god, Gosha—do you think I’m not allowed to touch him?”

“Well…” Georgi doesn’t sound confident. “I mean, he clearly already had some issues, so maybe you can? Then again, he also disappeared the minute you tried to, so maybe it’s not allowed. Oh no, Vitya, how are you supposed to know the difference?!”

Makka whines and Victor realizes he never started brushing again right as Georgi sinks to the floor next to them. He hands the brush over and heaves himself up onto the couch.

“What am I supposed to do, never try touching him again?? I think I’d die without being able to hold hands with you and braid your hair!”

Georgi hugs Makka and starts tearing up. “Don’t forget hugs, Vitya. I  _ know _ I’d die without being able to hug you!”

Victor screeches in frustration and drops his head back into the cushions before grabbing Georgi’s brush and starting to attack his locks with single-minded frustration, as though turning them into something pretty will also turn his Zayka situation around as well. He starts thinking aloud as he goes.

“Alright, so he did show up in Russia, which means it’s not a northern thing or a liminal space thing, right?”

Georgi shrugs. “Or maybe there  _ is _ a block on Russia and he’s just established enough of a bond that he can break through?”

“Right…” He hadn’t thought of it like that. Trust Georgi to come up with an explanation involving interpersonal relationships. “So if he shows up to Russian Nationals next weekend then I’ll know!”

“Right!”

“…Unless he’s tired from overextending himself to get here for the GPF.”

“…Right.”

How long does it take to recover from something like this? How are you even supposed to figure that out? Like, even making it here had to count for something, right? They both lapse into silence for a while as Victor starts on a basic four-strand braid. He’s too stressed to do anything more complex right now. A block on Russia, he can handle. Sure it’s frustrating when considering half his competitions are there every year, but a visit in Russia is just like any other visit, in the end. But touching?

Sure they’ve never touched before, but that was because they were just getting to know each other, and then because the whole situation was unusual. But they’re beginning to become friends now, or he’d like to think they are, and friends are supposed to be able to kiss hello and braid each others’ hair and throw their feet in your lap and everything. Sometimes it’s the only way you can get through, when life is as high strung as competitive figure skating.

Georgi ties a ribbon bow just above Makka’s ear right before Victor finishes his braid, and leans back, nearly pinning Victor’s hands to the couch with his giant head. Victor yelps and tugs them out of the way as he digs for a ribbon to tie around the end.

“Hold still, you great oaf!”

Georgi ignores him, opting instead to be encouraging and emotional, as per usual. “You can do it, Vitya! I know you will be strong and solve this and rescue him!”

Victor laughs and rests his forehead on the top of Georgi’s head for a second. It’s a nice thought.

He hopes it’s true.

And he definitely hopes Zayka will show up to Nationals. In fact, he almost half-expects him—after all, he made it to Russia once already, and the disappearance was more due to the touching than the struggle to break through, right?

But he doesn’t show. And that’s fine, really it is, except he doesn’t come to Europeans either, even though it’s not in Russia or anything that ever belonged to Russia or even all that far north this year. And it’s also technically an ISU competition, so even if it’s just that Zayka only comes to those, he should still be there.

It’s not right.

He falls during his free skate and that’s not right, either.

Nothing’s right about any of this.

After the long programs are all done he hears his name called in a Japanese accent and he whirls around nearly fast enough to give himself whiplash… only to find a little old man grinning up at him. Just a fan here to spectate. Of course. Victor smiles vaguely as the old man presses a little wooden doll into his hands and walks away.

It looks kind of like a nesting doll that doesn’t come apart, but it fits in his hand easily, and lends itself well to nervous fiddling. Not that he’s nervous; it’s just nice to have something to roll around in his palm. Like one of those smooth stones or whatever.

He didn’t… he didn’t permanently ruin something when he tried to touch Zayka, right? And… Zayka didn’t permanently strain anything by trying to push his boundaries and come to Russia, right?

It hurts to think of that bright adorable face not popping up. Zayka’s become an integral part of his figure skating life by now.

****

—

****

**March 16-23, 2008**

**World Figure Skating Championships - Gothenburg, Sweden**

****

Victor spends the next three months rolling the nesting doll around in his hands as he tries to convince himself that Zayka will show up to Worlds. It’s lucky the thing is all rounded edges; any corners it came with would have been long gone by now.

But he’s showed up to Worlds in the past, unlike Europeans, and even though Gothenburg is even further north than Warsaw (which is the only non-Russian ISU competition Zayka hasn’t been to), Sweden as it exists now has never belonged to Russia, even in part, and so he feels like there’s a pretty decent chance.

Clearly Zayka does too, because he shows up two nights before the short program, on the day before the opening ceremonies, even, and it’s so exciting that Victor rushes forward to grab his hands before he realizes what he’s doing and jerks back just in time. Zayka’s hands flutter in response.

It’s awkward.

They both stand there looking at each other for a couple of seconds before Victor recovers and kicks off a conversation, about the last safe topic he remembers.

“How’s puppy-Victor?”

Zayka’s eyebrows go up and he laughs, breaking the thin veneer of ice hovering in the air around them.

“We call him Vicchan, and he’s giving me just as much trouble as human-Victor! That fall—are you alright? You gave me such a fright!”

_ He _ gave  _ Zayka _ a fright?

Victor laughs at the irony. Right. He gave Zayka a fright.

Right.

His nerves are so shot by now, by this whole experience, that he can’t muster up any sort of explanation for Europeans, so he just starts babbling about Makka and asking whether Vicchan reacts similarly to various situations. It… gets them through.

Really, it does get them through. He’s surprised to find at the end that he’s far more calm than he was going in, and that he’s not anxious or doubtful at all about seeing Zayka next fall. So maybe they just talked fluff and pups for a night, but after the last few months it’s honestly exactly what he needed.

After he gets home from Worlds he puts the doll up on the centerpiece of their common room. It deserves a break from Victor’s constant fiddling, and he doesn’t need it anymore, at least for now. Besides, he kinds of likes the idea of having a visible reminder that everything tends to turn out okay in the end sitting in their main living area at all times.

Georgi shuffles out of his bedroom and raises an eyebrow at Victor. “What’s that?” He makes his way over and picks it up, imitating its facial expression in the mirror on the wall. “Why does it only have one eye?”

Victor shrugs. “I dunno, it came that way. It’s just something a weird old man gave me.”

Georgi freezes, staring at him. Victor shifts his weight a few times, backing up a step when Georgi doesn’t stop staring.

“What?”

“Vitya. A weird old man gave you a gift and you didn’t think to  _ tell _ me??”

“What, it’s not like it’s a bomb or anything! He wasn’t one of those crazy fans, he was positively  _ ancient! _ ”

“ _ Vitya! _ ” Georgi’s practically wailing by now. “An  _ ancient old man??? _ Did you not stop to think that he might be a  _ magical _ ancient old man?! What’s this number on the bottom??”

“Gosha you’re being ridiculous, it’s just a bar code.”

“It’s handwritten.” Victor goes to snatch the doll back but Georgi’s already looking it up online. Victor rolls his eyes. Not everything has to be magical. It’s just a little wooden worry doll.

“It’s a phone number!”

“The manufacturer.”

“Vitya, this is a  _ sign _ . You can’t just ignore it!”

Victor grabs a pillow off the couch and chucks it at him, walking into the kitchen to grab a snack. He can’t deal with drama right now; he literally just got off the worst emotional roller coaster ever. Georgi throws it back at him.

“Come back, you coward, and call the number!!”

“No!”

Victor snags a bag of rusks and is about to head back toward the common room when Georgi starts pulling the rest of the pillows off the couch, chanting ‘call it, call it’ as he flings each one in Victor’s direction.

“Hey!” Victor ducks as one of them sails over his head. “You call it, you loser, if you’re that obsessed!” He drops to the floor behind the counter to eat in peace, and Georgi goes silent.

_ Finally. _

He rolls his eyes and holds a rusk out for Makkachin before freezing in the process as he realizes that Georgi never just goes quiet like that. Makka whines, trying to get him to let go of the last bite, and he shushes her, listening for signs of their roommate. Nothing. He waddles to the edge of the island, peeking around to see if he’s trying to sneak up with one of the couch cushions now that he’s out of pillows.

He’s not there. Victor cranes his neck, trying to see through the doorway into the other room, but the angle is all wrong.

“…What are you doing?”

Georgi doesn’t answer. There’s a soft clacking noise coming from just around the corner, but that seems odd because they don’t keep anything there; that ancient corded wall-phone that came with the apartment is in the way.

Wait.

“Goshonk, you little punk, what are you doing???”

Victor scrambles to his feet and skids back into the common room. Georgi’s got the phone in his hands. Victor dives toward him with an unholy screech, but he makes it there an instant too late—Georgi’s already finished dialing and is now pushing the phone into his hands, blocking the wall unit so he can’t hang it up. Victor tries to shove it back but Georgi curls his fingers into fists and waves them around like strange little karate blocks so Victor can’t force him to grab the handset.

“It’s ringing, you might as well stay on the line now! You’ve got nothing to lose at this point!”

“I can’t believe you would do this,” Victor hisses. “You’re a  _ horrible _ friend, you  _ betrayed _ me!”

“I’m a  _ great _ friend. You would never have done this without me.”

Victor elbows him in the gut and Georgi gasps and hip-checks him in return. Makka jumps between them and starts barking, tangling in the cord and somehow wrapping it around Victor’s foot, sending him crashing to the floor. Georgi rolls his eyes and grabs the phone off Victor’s prone form.

“Fine! I’ll answer and then I’ll never tell you whether it’s him or not and no matter who it is I’ll give them your full name and address and every little embarra—”

A faint click echoes from the receiver and Victor claws his way up Georgi’s knees to snatch the phone back, smashing it to his ear so hard it brings tears to his eyes. He tries not to squeak out loud as a tinny voice comes through.

“Moshi moshi~!”


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**Chapter 5: Yuuri**

* * *

 

 

“You really need to change your voicemail from the default message,” Yuuko complains, draping her knees over the couch armrest and kicking at the curtains. “I’m getting sick and tired of hearing that overly cheerful robot lady tell me I’ve reached some random number just so I can wonder whether I even got you at all or whether I just dialed wrong.”

“No, he shouldn’t.”

Both Yuuko and Yuuri look at Minako-sensei in surprise.

“He’s going to become famous someday. He doesn’t want stalkers finding his mailbox and knowing it’s his.”

Yuuri twists the frayed edge of his sleeves between his fingers. He’s not sure he’ll ever really get famous enough for _that_ , but… “I did get a couple of missed calls from random foreign numbers last year.”

“See?? It’s a _predator!_ They probably used one of those newfangled computers to disguise their number!!”

Yuuko snorts at the implication that computers are somehow ‘newfangled’ but Minako-sensei has a point—they’ve learned about spoofing in his computer class. And really, why else would he be getting phone calls from numbers that look like they’re coming from Russia. He doesn’t know anybody in Russia, and even the few skaters he’s passably friendly with who might end up there for competitions don’t know his phone number.

But the idea that some rabid fan might have his number and actually want to call is pretty ridiculous too. Yuuri’s only a middle-of-the-pack skater; sure, he recovered from the JGPF disaster last year to take first place at Japan’s Junior Figure Skating Championships, but then he turned around and tanked again at Junior Worlds, and who goes wild over the eighth place finisher?? It doesn’t help that he finally hit his growth spurt over the summer and had his most inconsistent season yet due to the changes in his balance. Somehow he still took first in Madrid, but that was… pretty much it, and he didn’t even make it close to the Junior Grand Prix Final this year. He winces. Hopefully he doesn’t have that many fans—his disastrous performance at the John Curry Memorial was painful enough for Yuuri, let alone anybody cheering for him.

Minako-sensei’s still muttering about computers, so Yuuko rolls her eyes and turns the volume up. Skate America’s pairs are just wrapping up the short program, and the men are about to take to the ice.

“Oh—speaking of famous skaters, Yuuri, I brought you a pair of posters of Victor! One of them’s for your birthday, but it was buy-one-get-one-free so I figured I’d give you _one_ now... but because I can’t wait for anything, you can have the birthday poster now too.”

Yuuri laughs. “Thanks, Yu-chan! I’m sure they’ll be happy to join the other Victors on my wall. Are they from this season?”

“The extra one is,” Yuuko winks, “but the birthday one is from his Hermès photoshoot. You know, the one with the scarves and the hair…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And _nothing else._ ”

Yuuri squeaks and turns bright red, spinning to watch the TV before Minako-san asks what they’re talking about. It’s just about the most risqué thing Victor’s ever done and hopefully ever will do, and he doesn’t want to think about how it made him feel when he’s sitting on a couch between his _coach and his best friend_.

Yuuko nudges him in the side with her elbow. He jerks an elbow back in her direction.

She’s a _menace._

****

—

****

**October 23-26, 2008**

**Skate America - Everett, Washington, USA**

****

It’s been a while since they saw each other, so of course Victor would ask how his summer went, but Yuuri’s not interested in talking about his skating while he’s still so far below Victor’s level, and all summer long he was really just training, so he talks about the pas de deux Minako-sensei’s been teaching him and Yuuko now instead, as a break to get his creative juices flowing while he waits for Japan’s Junior Championship to roll around. He doesn’t really have anybody besides his parents to gush to about this, and they don’t understand any of his sports training all that well (even though they staunchly support his endeavors), so if he’s honest with himself, he’s kind of been waiting to talk to Victor about it.

“Swan Lake?” Victor wrinkles his nose a bit. “Isn’t that a little… overdone?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “It’s a classic, it can’t be overdone. Overdone is for passing fads.”

He’s already planning on doing Swan Lake as his theme next year, and so it’s actually perfect to have Victor playing devil’s advocate like this—it’s great practice for any confrontations he’ll have with reporters or critics if they bring it up next season. Victor’s already shaking his head.

“Anything can be overdone, it just requires playing it over and over until everyone’s sick and tired of it and never wants to see it again.”

“You can’t _get_ sick and tired when it’s so complex—the experience is new every time! And with ballet especially, it’s not like a movie. Every company, every ballerina has a totally new and unique interpretation born out of their vision and experiences. Like opera, right? Every performance is different.”

Victor bites his lip, considering. Yuuri rushes on before he can get second thoughts again.

“Tchaikovsky’s music is so full of emotions that some people go through their entire _lives_ feeling less than what’s expressed in the score, and to dance it—to _skate_ it, Victor—is to take all of those emotions into your body until it’s so full you can’t physically fit any more… and then to let them spill out into the air for everyone to see. The musicality is so beautiful it makes me want to cry every time, no matter whether I’m watching it or performing.”

He stops, blushing at the overabundance of passion. Thank goodness he’s practicing here before he has to actually talk about it. At least this way he can get carried away without embarrassing himself too much in front of anyone but himself. Victor’s smiling at him, just a hint around the corners of his eyes and mouth.

Yuuri bites his lip and sends half a smile back. Was it at all convincing? When Victor responds he sounds more amused than judgmental, so maybe.

“Okay, but… come on, the whole _mistaken identity_ theme? What kind of prince is so blind that he can’t even tell when he’s talking to the person he’s actually in love with as opposed to some… some shadow version of them?”

Yuuri snorts. “It’s a _fairy tale,_ Victor. And…” he shrugs and looks away, “I guess I just love the idea that true love conquers all? That any curse can be broken in the end?”

If true love conquers all, then maybe someday Yuuri’s true love for skating will conquer his anxiety over doing well, and he’ll make it to the same level as Victor. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll do it while Victor’s still there. Speaking of the other skater, he’s sitting still and silent, which is strange for him. Yuuri looks back up.

Victor’s eyes are sharp.

“Do you?” he murmurs. “I can… I believe that, too.”

Yuuri nods, confused, and Victor slowly nods back. It almost feels like they’ve just shared a moment but Yuuri’s not sure what kind of moment it could be. Maybe this is his subconscious telling him to pay attention?

Well, it _is_ a pretty good argument against Swan Lake being overdone, so his subconscious is probably right.

****

—

****

**November 20-23, 2008**

**Cup of Russia - Moscow, Russia**

****

“That’s different than it was for Skate America.”

Yuuri’s lying on the bench by the window while Victor practices the hairstyle for his long program. He lifts his hand into the air, twisting it around like he does in his pas de deux and watching the lights from cars outside ripple across his fingers and spread down his arm before rolling away again.

They’ve been hanging out for almost two hours now and he should probably let the vision go so he can actually fall asleep, but it’s not even nine in the evening Moscow time and he figures Victor should still be up, so he doesn’t really want to yet. Maybe he will when it’s finally time for Victor to go to bed; if they were truly friends then that’s when he’d go back to his own room anyway.

He cuts his gaze to the side to see Victor watching him, hands paused in the midst of some sort of twist. “What?”

Victor scrubs at the bridge of his nose and shrugs. “You’re taller now, I just noticed.”

“What, now that I’m lying down you notice?” Yuuri laughs. “I’m nearly as tall as you now—watch out, I’ll catch up before you know it!”

Victor huffs, rolling his eyes. “Dream again, shot glass. I’ve got practically 10 cm on you and a country heritage guaranteed to keep it that way.”

Yuuri sticks out his tongue but doesn’t argue. This growth spurt has finally placed him firmly at the highest point in his family, and chances are slim he’ll have another one pushing him even further beyond them.

Victor smiles and shakes his head at Yuuri for a moment before turning back to the mirror and trying to start up the twist again. “I just haven’t been able to find the right feel that I’m looking for. Normally Georgi helps, but he’s busy with his girlfriend and his first senior season right now, and we can’t seem to line up our free nights as much as usual.”

Yuuri nods, visualizing Victor’s piece.

“I can see it. The style doesn’t flow with the music as much as your body does. It’s pretty, but…”

“Dissonant.”

“It flows in a different way.”

“Right?” Victor turns to Yuuri in emphasis and drops the strand he’s holding, letting loose a string of Russian curse words as he scrambles to grab it again before everything unravels. “Yakov doesn’t think it’s as important as my body and technique, which, _true_ , but it still matters to me, you know? I just want everything to click!”

“Your hair should fit comfortably within the same theme as the rest of you.”

Victor nods and Yuuri rolls to his side, resting his head in the crook of his arm as he watches. Before he knows it he’s waking up for real with no memory of what came after—he must have drifted off in the midst of imagining, soothed by the repetitive vision of Victor brushing and braiding.

Victor must have mentioned something in an interview, or showed some sort of emotion on his face, because shockingly enough, even though it’s not one of the ones Yuuri imagined last night, he shows up to the long program with a different hairstyle than he had at Skate America.

It actually feels pretty cool—it’s like a little bit of proof that Yuuri knows the real Victor pretty well too, that he could predict this sort of thing happening. It’s nice.

****

—

****

**December 10-14, 2008**

**Grand Prix Final of Figure Skating - Goyang, South Korea**

****

Victor plucks at a loose string on the pillow in his arms. They’ve traversed conversation topics ranging from local street markets to Korean foods they want to try, but the night’s grown closer and quieter as it’s gone on, and they’re progressing to more serious topics.

“I don’t understand, I mean, I _like_ seeing Georgi happy, and it’s so beautiful for him to get to go on dates and be so romantic, but at the same time…” He sighs. “I mean, it’s always been us against the world, you know? There are no other skaters our age training with Yakov, just _us._ And now it’s _them_ , and here I am, just… me.”

Yuuri hugs his knees, at a loss for words. “You… have Makkachin?”

Victor levels a look at him. “Makka isn’t human,” he winces, eyes briefly darting away before they land on Yuuri again, “or a person I can talk to who talks back, at least.”

Yuuri nods, chewing his lips. They sit in silence while he tries to find something to say. It’s not like he’s exactly the person people usually go to for advice, considering his dearth of experience in, well, pretty much everything… but he actually does have experience with something like this, doesn’t he?

“Yuuko.”

“What?”

“I… I felt the same way with my best friend. She’s really serious about her boyfriend, and we’ve been friends with him forever, but it’s not the same. It’s like, we were friends with him, but… _we_ were friends with him, _together_. And now…”

“Now it’s just her and him.”

“Yeah.”

Victor sinks his chin into the pillow until only the tip of his nose rests atop the stuffing. “How do you deal with it?”

It comes out muffled.

Yuuri gathers the cuffs of his pajama pants into his fists, pulling them tight against his ankles as he tries to put his feelings into words.

“I love them. I love Yuuko more than almost any other person I know, and I love Nishigori too, in his own way… so I want them to be happy. They _are_ happy, and it’s because of each other. Just because I have my own personal issues doesn’t mean they don’t deserve that. I can just, I can only hope that I get that someday too.”

He looks up at Victor and maybe there’s a little too much of his heart in his eyes, he’d be the first to admit that, but it’s not because he wants to be with Victor in particular. He knows that’s a pipe dream. It’s just that… well, Victor, the one sitting here, the one in Yuuri’s mind, he’s kind of the representation of everything Yuuri’s ever wanted, isn’t he? No matter what he gets from the real Victor, be it a conversation, an acknowledgment, or even just the idea that he might know Yuuri’s name, might recognize him as a competitor on the same ice. Any of that would be enough, wouldn’t it?

Victor’s looking at him with wide eyes, so wide Yuuri feels like he can almost see through to his soul—like the kind of ice you can see straight through to the fish swimming below, only somehow also colored with the warmth of a tropical sea—and his heart flutters a little.

_Would_ it be enough?

He clears his throat and looks away again. “It’s… they’re an example that it does work out. That’s something that should give us hope, right?”

“But… what about the relationship you had with her before? Did that ever come back?”

Yuuri thinks of Yuuko at his house playing with Vicchan and gossiping about other skaters as they watched the short program yesterday and a smile sneaks up on him.

“Yes, it did. Maybe I don’t get as much time with her as before but the time I do get is good. We both make sure of that. Plus, now there’s a lot less complaining about him needing to get his act together and ask her out already.”

Victor’s smiling now too, albeit a bit lopsided.

Yuuri lets go of his knees, letting them fall to the side and pulling himself up straight. “Anyway, it may not be the same, but you’ll always have me, too.” He shrugs. “We’re an ‘us’ that Georgi isn’t part of, so him having a girlfriend doesn’t change it.”

Victor blinks. “…I do have you, don’t I?” His voice is soft, with a bit of a wondering lilt to it. Yuuri nods and Victor continues. “An us that nobody else is part of.”

Yuuri flushes at the sound of that, but it’s kind of what he was going for, right? They don’t need love or anything to have a bond, it’s just… an understanding. A void being filled. And anyway, even without knowing the real Victor, there’s no denying that he carries weight in Yuuri’s life.

Even if it’s just the dream of him.

****

—

****

**February, 2008**

**Hasetsu, Japan**

****

Minako-sensei pulls Yuuri aside after Nationals, before they leave the hotel to head back to Hasetsu. Kato-sensei is standing behind her with his hat squashed in his hands. They both have serious expressions on their faces, and Yuuri’s heart stops.

“What is it? Is Yuuko okay? Are my parents?”

“Yuuri… we’ve been concerned about something for a while now, and we want to discuss it with you.”

Yuuri crumples into a chair. This is it. They want him to quit. His mind goes foggy. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised—Minako-sensei’s been dropping hints for a while about whether he’s thinking about the future, and it’s clear to him now that it’s because she thinks he’s not giving them a student to be proud of anymore.

Honestly, he should have expected it sooner.

But everything went well last year, didn’t it? He, he went to the Junior Grand Prix Finals and to Junior Worlds, and that’s got to count for something, right?

_Unless you hit your peak._

Once the thought is there it’s hard to extinguish. After all, it’s not exactly uncommon in the world of figure skating—the Russians especially are known for bright beginnings and early flare-outs. Yuuri’s finally had his major growth spurt, it’s entirely possible he’ll never find his stride again. He’s already having to start watching what he eats even more carefully now that his weight tries to balloon at every opportunity.

Even Yuuko’s starting to talk about leaving off competing, and she was always the Madonna of the Ice Castle—if anybody were going to make it big it should have been her instead of Yuuri in the first place. Meeting Victor, standing on his ice like some sort of equal, was a fool’s dream from the start.

His hands are shaking.

He clenches them into fists, but it doesn’t help.

“—ri!”

A hand falls on his fist and he blinks, looking up. Minako-sensei’s crouched in front of him. When did she get there?

“Yuuri, are you listening to me? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shakes his head in confusion, mouth trying to form a question.

Kato-sensei clears his throat. “It’s us, Katsuki.”

Minako-sensei’s nodding along. “Yuuri, we can’t help you the way we should anymore, the way you need. We’re not advanced enough for that.”

“What do you mean?

“I’m not even a skater, Yuuri. I can choreograph routines and make you beautiful from a dancer’s perspective, but I’m never going to have the eye for how to do it like a skater, for the techniques your judges are looking for.”

Yuuri looks at Kato-sensei for an explanation. He gives a short nod.

“What she said.”

It doesn’t make sense. He’s been doing fine with her choreography, he’s been struggling even—they clearly still have things to teach him. He looks back and forth between them but Minako-sensei just looks sad and Kato-sensei won’t meet his eyes.

“I—I’ll work harder at it, I swear! I’ll look up videos on the skater technique; there has to be something online, and I know I can get the jumps with just a little more time.”

Minako-sensei is shaking her head. “It’s not that, Yuuri. You’re doing fine.”

“…But I need to be doing better, right? That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? Just tell me how and I’ll do it!”

She sighs and turns around, clearly communicating something silently to Kato-sensei. He shuffles in place, mashing his cap back onto his head and wiping his hands on his pants before clearing his throat again.

“I’m no coach, Katsuki. I only know the jumps. The basic technique. This other stuff, it’s too big for me.”

His hands are trembling even harder. Minako-sensei gently unwraps his fingers from the fists and lays his hands flat on his knees, placing hers over them. His fingertips slowly turn from white to red to gold again.

“Yuuri, I know it’s scary, but… think of it as just moving your timeline up a little. You would have to leave Hasetsu eventually anyway, for university. This way you can find a coach near one and benefit from a bigger program, not just for your skating but also for your education.”

To his horror Yuuri’s actively crying now, tears and snot running down over his lips when he tries to take a breath. It tastes like salt. He jerks his hand out from under Minako-sensei’s and dashes his arm across his face. Kato-sensei inches closer and thrusts a handkerchief in his direction.

“It’s not _fair!”_

“Oh, honey, nothing in life is fair. That’s just how it is.”

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder. “You can do great things, son. Don’t let us hold you back.”

Yuuri shakes his head but he can’t make any words come out around the sobs. His coaches both wait patiently but it feels like eternity as he desperately tries to get himself under control, each minute stretching more and more as he feels the weight of their presence grow the longer he goes without saying anything.

How is he supposed to feel about this? His coaches are the ones who come to his every competition, the ones who see every aspect of him and still support him. Nothing else can steady him through his anxiety like Kato-sensei’s silent presence. Nobody else but Minako-sensei knows exactly what to say before he gets on the ice. They’re there for him in any situation, the ones he goes to when he needs comfort. What is he supposed to do when they’re the ones making him feel like this?

Who is he supposed to go to now?

****

—

****

**March 23-29, 2009**

**World Figure Skating Championships - Los Angeles, California, USA**

****

Victor’s sitting at the mirror practicing his hairstyles again. It looks fancy, like him. Everything about Victor is fancy. He probably never has crises like Yuuri—he can just deal with anything as it happens. That’s what professionals do, isn’t it?

Meanwhile Yuuri’s basically been in a fog since his talk with Minako-sensei and Kato-sensei. His parents don’t understand skating, so he hasn’t even tried discussing it with them. His coaches won’t budge from their position anyway, so what’s the use? Even Yuuko’s no better. All she keeps saying is that it’s perfect timing since he’s nearly ready to move on to seniors anyway.

He’s not.

He crawls onto the recliner next to Victor’s chair, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to work up the courage to do anything, say anything. Maybe he doesn’t want to have to figure that out right now, did they ever think of that? Maybe he just needs someone to sit with him instead of trying to fill the room with empty words about how it’s going to be okay when it’s clearly not.

Victor cuts a look in Yuuri’s direction, but remains silent, a concerned look on his face. He’s busy figuring out his hair anyway, why should he have to start the conversation? He’s _Victor Nikiforov,_ why should he have to cater to Yuuri at all?

Yuuri bites his lip, rocking his heel against the cushion as he fights the urge to spiral into the darker thoughts waiting below. He screws up his eyes and focuses them on Victor, shining in the light of the desk lamp as his hair ripples in waves around his shoulders. Victor looks back and Yuuri turns his gaze away again.

It’s _his_ fantasy, he can stay silent for as long as he wants to. The dream will just have to deal. It’s not like he has anything he wanted to say anyway—he just needed the comfort.

Victor angles himself away and starts slowly braiding his hair again, flicking his eyes toward Yuuri in the mirror every once in a while but ignoring him just the same. Yuuri clenches his fists sleeves in his hands and watches the strands flow over and under each other like ripples of moonlight made solid.

Victor finishes the hairstyle eventually and examines himself in the mirror but never once turns directly toward Yuuri, who’s gone stiff the minute he realized Victor was done. It’s alright though, he just settles back down and starts slowly removing the pins on the upper half and unraveling the braids to try again. The motions are calm and unhurried, and eventually Yuuri lets out a breath only to notice the tension in his shoulders is gone as well.

He takes another breath and lets it out and they’re still relaxed. Victor’s eyes seek Yuuri’s in the mirror and Yuuri catches them for the span of a heartbeat.

Slowly, Victor turns to face him.

“Are you…” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “Of course you’re not okay, I’m sorry. Do you… want to talk about it?”

Yuuri digs a fingernail into the pad of his thumb. Does he? Not really. Would it help? Probably, even just to work through it with his own psyche. It’s not like he wants to share his turmoil with anybody who actually exists to judge him.

Victor’s coach isn’t based in his hometown.

“Did you… do you ever miss your family?”

Victor’s eyes go distant as he considers Yuuri. Eventually he nods. “I miss my mama and papa all the time.”

“Do you ever regret leaving them to go to Saint Petersburg?”

“No.” Victor’s voice is firm and confident now. “Definitely not. I miss them always, but I can’t imagine my life if I hadn’t, without… without skating, without Georgi and Makka, without Yakov. Without you.”

Yuuri makes a sound in the back of his throat.

“But what about… what about your life _with_ them?”

Victor leans forward, hair tumbling every which way as he reaches for Yuuri’s hands. “Oh Zayka, it’s—”

His hands go through Yuuri’s and he falls forward.

Yuuri pushes back with a squeak, but it’s too late and the chair isn’t big enough—Victor’s caught himself on the edge of the cushion, but his thumb is overlapping with Yuuri’s heel and there’s no sensation there or anything because of _course_ there wouldn’t be, it’s not _real_ , none of this is real, he can’t believe that he would be so dumb as to forget and try to _touch_ Victor like he was actually there, like he could be friends with Yuuri, and, and…

He buries his face in his hands, trying not to cry as the scene dissolves around him.

It’s another hour before he can actually fall asleep, alone in the shadowed silence of his room, surrounded by soulless smiling Victors.

  



	6. Chapter 6

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Victor**

* * *

 

**March, 2009**

**Los Angeles, USA**

 

Victor’s heart pounds as he falls forward, Zayka disappearing with a stricken look upon his face. He whirls to examine the rest of the room in desperate hope that it’s all just a misunderstanding, but he’s left empty, or, well, the _room_ is, and when he jerks his head back to the space where his Zayka should be, it’s empty too. It _can’t_ be empty, though, that’s not right, it’s not fair—he didn’t _try_ to break the rules, it just happened!

Victor frowns.

It isn’t right, though.

Something’s definitely off.

Zayka doesn’t just disappear like this, and the look on his face when Victor tried to touch him—something was _really_ wrong. His heart stutters again. Something was wrong, but that something was _Victor_ , wasn’t it.

Zayka was upset, yes, but he stayed. He stayed in silence, but he stayed just the same. Until Victor tried to touch him.

Is that really a rule, then?

Something ties itself into a knot deep within his chest. This isn’t like internet friends, or long distance. Zayka is right there, or he’s _supposed_ to be, and Victor should be allowed to hold his hands, for goodness’ sake.

And really, if Victor wasn’t allowed to try to do it, shouldn’t Zayka have told him so more clearly? Not that Victor’s _angry_ with him, per se, but it wouldn’t be wrong to say that he’s a little pissed—it’s not like he could have known any better! He’s had to figure this whole mess out on his own with no help or guidance whatsoever and only Georgi to give him any sort of support in research and understanding.

So _yeah,_ if touching Zayka messed things up for good then it’s not like it’s Victor’s fault, and he has every right to be pissed.

Except maybe it _is_ his fault and he was just too dumb or blind to figure it out, which just makes him feel _super great_ about everything too and that is _not_ the sort of stress he should be under right before skating his long program so thanks a _lot,_ Zayka. Victor.

…Whatever. It doesn’t matter who’s fault it is, the point remains that it sucks, and Victor has to skate later today even though it sucks, and his friend is upset and he can’t do anything about it, and _he’s_ upset and nobody can do anything about it, and _nothing_ makes sense anymore in general, and it all _sucks._

Victor chucks the chair cushion across the room and snaps his teeth at his reflection, only just now noticing the mess of hair tumbling every which way now that he’s not holding the mainstay of the style in place. Because of course it would be; can’t have something going _right_ for a change!

And of course the time is starting to press and he has about an hour at most to figure it out before he needs to be doing actual useful prep, but when he sits down to try, his fingers keep getting tangled in the strands and he keeps dropping chunks and he can’t help but get pissier by the minute because he has nobody to help him and this is clearly too complex to do on his own, and by the time he gives up he doesn’t know if he’s angry with himself or Zayka or even Georgi or Yakov for not helping him figure this stupid style out before he got all the way to Worlds. It’s so freaking _annoying,_ and he knows he shouldn’t be getting his heartrate up over something so stupid, but he can’t stop himself. It’s like he’s on a train in the process of derailing, and he doesn’t even have access to the emergency brake because it’s behind a pane of glass… A pane of glass that’s easily breakable but all the way across the aisle, and he’s lying on the couch and he just got comfortable and doesn’t want to get up to grab it, but he totally could if he wasn’t such a bum, and now he’s angry again and even mixing metaphors just because he’s _that pissed._

Not that anybody except Victor’s even going to notice that he’s skating today with the entirely wrong hairstyle for the program, because of course nobody cares to get to know him well enough to know that it’s a problem.

Even though it’s totally obvious from the rest of the program if they’d just bother to _look_.

 

—

 

**April, 2009**

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

 

“I don’t even care if he comes back, that was a royally shitty thing to do to someone who had a professional career to deal with.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to do it, Vitya.”

“What do _you_ know about what he meant or didn’t?” It comes out a little more viciously than intended, but Victor’s not about to take it back now that he’s on a roll.

Georgi raises his eyebrow. “I know that you definitely don’t want to never see the guy again, idiot.”

“Why? It’s not like we’re _friends_ , it’s not like he’s _you—_ we’ve never even touched each other! We’ve never held hands, and he’s never even once tried to do my hair or kiss me hello or, or kick me when I’m teasing, or I don’t know, literally anything else!”

“But do you wish he would?”

Victor frowns. Of course he wishes Zayka would, it’s what friends do; or at least, what he wants Zayka to do. But even then, so _what_ if a part of him had been secretly wanting to ask Zayka for help with his hair before he showed up looking all down? He wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway.

Which is where the problem lies with this whole situation. It’s not like Victor knew for sure that they weren’t allowed to touch, since Zayka never actually told him so. He crosses his arms.

“That’s off-topic. What I’m saying is that I clearly don’t know him as well as I thought I did. I’ve never met his family, or his friends; he’s just some, some _guy_ I see sometimes at competitions. Why should I care if he stops coming?”

Makka whines but Victor sticks his elbows out and refuses to straighten his knees to give her a place to jump up on. He doesn’t need comfort right now and he definitely doesn’t want to be doing comforting.

“Asshole.” Georgi whistles Makkachin over to him and then reaches down and hauls her up into his lap, awkwardly draping her paws over his shoulders and mashing her butt against the edge of the kitchen table so she doesn’t fall off the chair. “And speaking of assholes, let’s rewind: professional career, _my ass._ You could skate drunk and blindfolded and still make it to the podium half the time; your career was in no way, shape, or form in jeopardy.”

“Maybe my emotions were,” Victor mumbles with a pout.

Georgi ignores him.

“Oh, and while we’re on that topic, do you want me to text Christophe Giacometti and tell him that he’s just some guy we see sometimes at competitions so he might as well stop bothering to hit us up whenever we’re in the same place? I’m sure you won’t mind, seeing as how you clearly don’t care for people like that.”

“That’s not what I said,” Victor whines, “and some friend you are! Don’t you see me needing comfort over here?”

“Is that what it is? Because it looks more like a toddler wanting to throw a tantrum to me.”

Victor levies a punch into the couch cushions at his side and rolls to his stomach so he can confront Georgi eye-to-eye. Makka barks and scrambles out of Georgi’s lap, nearly tipping him over in her haste to run to Victor and jump onto the backs of his legs now that they’re flat. Georgi rolls his eyes at both of them and grabs his tea again, spooning another generous helping of jam in atop what’s already there.

“I just don’t _understand_ , you know?”

“Yes, that’s generally how life goes.”

“But I don’t get why he wouldn’t tell me it was going to be a problem if it was going to be a problem!”

Georgi shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t know? Maybe he wasn’t allowed to tell. Or maybe he really is just a shitty friend.”

A spike of irritation drives its way through Victor’s chest. What does Georgi even know about Zayka, anyway? “He’s a _great_ friend, and that’s _not_ what I was asking, and I would have liked a just bit of guidance, but clearly you don’t want to give me any!”

“Oh my god.” Georgi gathers his tea and the jar of jam and starts walking toward his bedroom.

“Hey wait.” Victor tries to jump up and stop him but Makka is firmly planted at this point and he can’t wiggle out from underneath her. Georgi ignores him and continues walking, veering only for a detour to grab his laptop as well. “Where are you going??? I need you!”

“You need to listen to yourself, Vitya, and take a good hard look within. Until then, I’ll be hanging out anywhere your pity-fest isn’t.”

Victor drops his face back to the couch, one of his legs twisted awkwardly now from his couch escape attempt but still wedged under Makka in a position that is guaranteed to be unbearably uncomfortable within minutes, and screeches into the cushion.

 

—

 

**June, 2009**

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

 

“I think I’m going to propose to Katya,” Georgi says as they’re carrying boxes of his stuff out of their shared apartment to the car waiting below.

“What??” Victor nearly loses his grip on the box he’s holding and scrambles to catch it again before it tumbles down the stairs. “But you’re literally just moving in together now!”

“I _know_ , and she keeps saying that it’s a good test, but it’s just so romantic! We’ll get to be together all day every day, which is like the ultimate declaration that we love each other, so why wait any longer to make it official?”

“All day except during skating practice, right?”

Georgi looks at Victor with stars in his eyes. “I’d give up skating for her in a heartbeat if she wanted to be with me more.”

Victor wrinkles his nose and draws back his lips. That’s a bold statement… It can’t possibly be true, can it?

And what about Victor; Georgi wouldn’t give him up too, would he? They’re already planning regular sleepovers again like they did before they lived together, and it’s not like Yekaterina dislikes Victor or would want to cut him out of Georgi’s life, but what if she ever asked?

His mind spins back to the GPF last December, and his conversation with Zayka about being a third wheel. Zayka’s friend stuck with him, just in a different context, right? Georgi can do the same. He _will_ do the same.

And that’s acceptable. Really, it is. Victor’s never expected to be roommates forever, after all. Georgi can move out and change his life a little and it doesn’t have to change his relationship with Victor.

Even if Victor would have said the same thing about Georgi’s feelings for skating too.

Victor shudders. He could _never_ give up skating, not even for Zayka.

He frowns.

Not even for anyone.

Why would he cut things out of his life because of Zayka? It’s not like they’re ever going to move in together; they’re just about as separate as it’s possible to be, especially now, after—

“—right, Vitya?”

Victor blinks and nods, making a generic noise of affirmation. His heart is thumping more strongly than it should be for this level of exercise and he grunts, shifting his hold on the box. It doesn’t feel like it’s shifting, but you never know. Maybe he isn’t as strong as he thinks he is.

 

—

 

**August, 2009**

**Paris, France**

 

Victor shifts in his seat, desperately wishing he had something to distract himself with as the stylist and the director of the photoshoot keep messing with his hair, tugging it this way and that as they discuss their vision for it over his head. He’d tried giving input early on, but they kept ignoring him, so he’s just been sitting there like a lump for nearly an hour now. So far he’s asked for someone to pass over his phone, a magazine, and at least to just turn on the TV in the corner so he could watch it in the mirror, but they’ve denied him every time because they ‘didn’t trust him not to crane his neck trying to look’ when they needed it stiff for the visuals.

He’s used to being ignored during the styling part of photoshoots. It’s never exactly pleasant, but it’s not unusual either. What he’s not used to is his body and hair being talked about like they’re some sort of product, separate from Victor himself. Or for them to treat him like a child they can’t trust to behave himself. He crosses his arms and the director smacks his elbow.

“No shifting, we need to see how this will look with the lines of your shoulders.”

Olga, Victor’s agent, catches his eye and gives him a look before he can sneer in response. She’d warned him in advance about the guy’s personality, but Victor hadn’t expected it to be _this_ bad. Supposedly he’s one of the best visionaries in the world right now though, so it behooves them to stay on his good side.

Victor’s one of the best skaters in the world right now, so it should behoove this tool to stay on _his_ good side.

He grits his teeth and lets his arms fall back to his lap. It wouldn’t be so bad, except it’s warmer than usual outside, so of course they’ve turned the air up to unmanageable levels inside and nobody’s bothered to give Victor a coat because apparently they ‘need to see his hair against his bare shoulders to absorb the vision’ or some nonsense.

Georgi never needs to see his hair on his bare shoulders to style it. Zayka never needed to see Victor in costume to comment on whether his hairstyles would fit with it. The vision of an empty chair flashes across his mind and he banishes the thought, tensing his shoulder blades and sliding them down along the back of the seat without moving his shoulders or neck.

“Can I have a blanket for my lap, please?”

The stylist titters. “You’re a figure skater, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be used to the cold?”

It takes everything in him for Victor not to roll his eyes. It’s by far the number one question he gets when he mentions the temperature. Does nobody realize that when he’s skating he’s actually _moving_ instead of sitting prisoner in a metal-and-plastic chair? He flashes his teeth in a cool smile.

“Oh, I am, I just felt like being difficult.”

Olga dives forward, slinging her sweater over Victor’s knees. “Don’t mind him, he’s just tired from the trip out here. You know that airline food, not nearly enough red meat to keep his blood flowing!”

She pinches his leg under the guise of adjusting the makeshift blanket.

“Sorry,” Victor adds, “was that not right? My French is a little rusty.”

“That’s alright,” the director replies in a patronizing tone. “We’re used to working around the limitations of foreign celebrities.”

Victor buries his hands under the collar of the sweater, clenching them into fists, and nods. The stylist and director both grab his scalp at the same time, jerking back on his hair with a suddenness that brings tears to the corners of his eyes.

He presses his lips together and sucks in a breath through his nose. They could have just _asked._ Or waited two seconds for him to finish responding and remember not to move, instead of practically yanking their precious commodity out at the roots.

A runner shows up for the director and he turns away for a moment to address her, at which point the stylist starts shooting her mouth off at Victor, like they’re somehow friends. Funny how it only happens once he tells her that he’s not great with French, as untrue as the statement may be. She doesn’t know that he was lying, and yet here she is, suddenly going on and on in a language he’s supposed to struggle with about how much she loves his hair and how wonderful it must be to have people styling it for him all the time and how she’s sure all of his friends must love playing with it, and…

It’s not that a fog comes over him, exactly. More like—everything clarifies to a brittle sort of sharpness in the space of an instant, and the band that’s been pulling him taut for months now, that’s been tightening further and further throughout this whole day, snaps. And not like a cotton string that’s been fraying, parting bit by bit as each strand goes, but like elastic, all at once, in the sort of cut where the ends don’t just fall to the sides but jump back with a bite. Victor’s eyes land on the scissors in the styling station right as she’s gesturing to make her point, using a lock of _his_ hair like it’s some sort of teacher’s wand, and what does _she_ know about his _friends_ , and before he knows it there’s blood rushing in his ears and the chunk she’s holding is no longer attached to the rest of him.

Like the string, snapping back to sting him the minute it goes.

His heart wants to stop, looking at the silver cascading from her fist, but his adrenaline is up and he’s had just enough of being treated like a delinquent that he’s ready to give them an actual reason, and anyway there’s no going back now, so he jerks out of the chair and leans into her space with a hiss.

“If you like it all that much, it’s _yours._ ”

“No, don’t turn around, we’re not—” The director doesn’t realize what his stylist is holding until he’s nearly on top of them, at which point he loses all color and drops the clipboard he’s supposed to be reviewing.

Everyone in the room freezes as an unearthly noise starts rising from the director. Victor’s hands are shaking. Olga’s are clapped over her mouth. The stylist still has his detached hair held out in front of her.

Someone else comes rushing into the room and takes in the scene. She must be a fixer or something, because she steps forward with two long strides and grabs the stylist, physically moving her out of the way as she leans in to examine Victor. He stares back. She dismisses him like the others and turns to the director, snapping her fingers in front of his face until he stops.

“It’s salvageable. We’ll pin it back. The area it came from isn’t—”

“It’s coming off.”

Victor’s voice feels like it’s coming from the radio across the room, but everyone’s looking at him again. Or rather, for the first time, since they’re actually looking at _him_ now, instead of just his hair. The fixer’s eyes narrow.

“What did you say?”

“I _said,_ it’s coming off. No pins. No styles. No, no weaves, or _whatever_. Cut the rest off and leave. It. Alone.”

Leave _me_ alone _,_ he wants to say. From the looks on their faces, it seems the point comes across that way anyway. Olga steps forward, clasping a hand loosely around his wrist. The stylist shifts and the fixer’s focus snaps to her.

“Don’t you touch a single hair on that man’s head until we’ve discussed how to deal with this.”

The director seems to have recovered at least part of his soul, since he’s now nodding along with her as he glares daggers at the offending lock of hair behind Victor’s left ear.

“Oh?”

It’s like watching a train wreck, in a way. Victor can tell his mouth is speaking, but even he isn’t sure what’s going to come out. “And am I a part of this ‘we?’ Because last I checked, it’s _my_ hair, and—”

“—and it’s _my_ vision,” the director interrupts, dripping poison.

The fixer points at both of them silently, before pointing at a back room and walking away, never even turning around to see if they’re following.

Olga tightens her hand around Victor’s wrist as they walk, pulling him in close to mutter in his ear. “Let me do the talking, Vitya _._ I will look out for you and everything’s going to be okay but dear _god_ let me do my job and salvage this.”

Victor’s step stutters at the phrasing and she hastily corrects.

“Just… let me talk them down. You will be fine; you won’t be forced into anything you don’t want; just _please,_ keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”

The minute they enter the back room the director whirls on them and starts working his way into a froth again. Victor sneers at him and gathers the rest of his hair over his far shoulder as Olga steps in front of him and starts snapping back. The fixer takes a long look at him, and then deliberately draws the director back and steps forward to take his place as he finds a new spot just behind her right shoulder, continuing to complain under his breath.

“Clearly you understand that we will need to renegotiate.”

“You paid for Victor. No stipulation on what he was to look like.”

“We paid for Victor’s _brand._ He changed his brand on us in the middle of a planned shoot utilizing said brand.”

“Yes, he did. Congratulations on the exclusive. You’re lucky we’re not asking for more money now.”

“And you’re lucky we’re not throwing you out on the street for your little diva’s unprofessional behavior. Is this what you want the rest of the industry hearing about him?”

Olga’s back twitches, but she’s such a professional that Victor doubts there’s anything showing on her face. Personally, he can’t give a damn what the rest of the industry thinks; they’re all just a bunch of soulless sharks searching for blood in the water, and if they can’t find any, they’ll go out and make some. Them thinking that he’s difficult to work with would just give him more time on the ice and away from these stupid interviews.

The fixer goes on. “We want it to be a true exclusive. Head covered, not a single breath of it leaves this building until the issues hit the streets. Interview discussing how it will tie into his next season, as well as his status as an Olympic hopeful. Full in-progress spread of him getting the cut here in this studio.”

“Do that,” Victor interrupts, fully aware that he shouldn’t the minute the words leave his mouth. Fully wanting to stop, even. And just as fully unable to do so.

“Vitya—” Olga talks over him, trying desperately to dial him back. It’s not going to happen. Like a pot boiling over with more and more words, such that even turning the heat down doesn’t help, Victor needs to be removed from the stove entirely.

“—Try to point one single camera at me during the process and I swear to god I will lock myself in a bathroom and hack it all off myself.”

They all stare at him but he lifts his chin and squares his shoulders. The fixer narrows her eyes. Victor raises his brows back in challenge. If they want to go calling him a little diva, then he can show them one.

It’s their choice.

Eventually, they all come to an agreement that’s satisfactory on all sides, although the director of the shoot is giving Victor the silent treatment by now, which is sure to be fun once they get to that part. At least the fixer sees him. It feels a bit like she’s watching him through a microscope, or perhaps a magnifying glass that’s angling a burning ray of sunlight directly at him, but she is looking at him.

He should be grateful that someone is. It’s what he wanted, after all.

He just feels cold.

They cut his hair in a private room. Makeup and costuming as well. It’s highly unusual, and he’d be inclined to be grateful if he thought for one second they were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts, but it’s clear they just want the exclusive. The fewer people who see Victor’s new style means fewer people to silence.

The director tries ignoring him at first, giving all of his cues to the photographer. Victor sneers down from his throne. Does that creep really think that he’s going to have any sort of acceptable work product if he ignores Victor in a shoot revolving completely around showing off Victor’s power?

In this respect, the cold helps. It’s been continually spreading, encasing Victor’s body in a metaphorical chill far more powerful than the air conditioned one of the morning, and it gives him an air more regal than any petty pouting this little man can muster up.

It’s hard to have goosebumps when his body and soul are colder than the room itself. It’s easier to get people to hear him when they shiver just walking near. It’s better than the hot rage he’d snapped with first.

It is.

He knows the shoot is going to be big within minutes of walking on the set. Even the photographer seems in awe, commenting over and over in shock at each picture he takes. A hint of challenge grazes the edge of Victor’s mouth as he gazes into the lens for the final set of photos.

Let them try to spread rumors with results like the ones he’ll show. They’ll be laughed out of the industry.

The interview comes after the shoot, still on set. Ostensibly it’s to reduce chances of people seeing him. Victor rolls his eyes. It’s not. The fixer understands things, even if the director doesn’t. He respects that about her.

They need to make an impact.

How better, than to immerse the interviewer in the scene?

Easily, if they’d just trust Victor. Impact is his job. Impact is his _life_. But then again, he’s just a jumped up foreign celebrity. What would he know?

The fixer stands behind the interviewer, just out of her sight. She’s there for him, and they both know it. Olga glances back and forth between them. She does too.

The interviewer doesn’t, although she does introduce herself to Victor.

She’s the first person today to do so. Telling, really.

She starts, predictably, with a question about the haircut. Because even when it’s gone they can’t stop talking about it. What is he supposed to say, that he couldn’t stand their grasping clutches one more moment? That the gaping leech of a stylist tried to burrow her way into his skin and suck his life-force right out and he just snapped? That nobody in this god-forsaken building understands a thing about him and they’re all just now finding that out, and isn’t it just _so fun_ for everybody involved? He bares his teeth in a thin approximation of a smile.

“Oh come on now, Madeline. Surely you people should know me well enough by now to understand that I’m always…” He locks eyes with the fixer, whose name he still doesn’t know, “redefining expectations.”

Two can play at this game, after all. It’s their fault for not doing their research. Or at least, it will be, if they try to turn this into an issue.

Her lips nearly disappear as she presses them together ever more tightly. The air between them crackles with malice.

Olga clears her throat and Victor suddenly realizes how scornful his tone of voice was. Wincing, he looks back to his interviewer, who’s staring at him with eyes wide. Great. Thankfully this interview is in writing and not on the television. He sighs and slumps back in the chair, waving for her to go on.

She doesn’t, although she starts nodding so violently he thinks her head might fall off. Victor shoots Olga a look and she shrugs, rolling her eyes back at him. Is he going to have to do all the work here? He clenches his jaw for a split second before forcing a smile on his face and turning back to Madeline.

“…It was getting boring.” Everything about this interview is boring. The cold is leaching away, leaving brittle bones behind.

He just wants to go home.

 

—

 

**Still August**

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

 

The adrenaline carries Victor through the rest of the interview, and in one finally good part of the day, it turns out Olga switched their flight sometime during the photoshoot because they're on an overnight back to Russia the minute they’re done, with barely enough time to stop for their bags before they’re hauled off to Roissy Airport. The airport itself goes by in flashes, and the next thing he knows he's sitting on the plane and Olga's handing him something to help him sleep, and then they're back and it's morning and she's dropping him off at his apartment, and everything feels like such a distant dream that he can barely even remember what really happened in Paris and what was just a nightmare.

But he's alone, which is all that matters.

Finally.

He scrubs at his face and stumbles to the bathroom for a shower or something to get the travel crust off, but when he looks in the mirror and takes off the cap that's been mashed on his head for the last thirteen hours, the wig they forced him to wear out of the interview comes with it.

Something starts stabbing into his tonsils and a pressure squeezes his ears and there’s bubbling coming up the back of his throat but it’s… it just can’t be right, so he tries to cram the wig back on his head, but that’s not going on right either and now he’s just sitting there with this dead _thing_ draped over his head, and the shudder that makes it down his back is so violent that before he knows it he’s flung the whole thing across the room and he’s crammed in the corner by the door, watching as it slowly slides off the shower faucet and drops into the tub.

Victor sinks to the floor in a grisly parody of the wig, staring blankly at the side of the tub like he can see through it to the horror crumpled within.

It’s not real.

Clearly he’s still asleep on the airplane—maybe he hasn’t even made it to Paris yet. He laughs but it comes out a little too high, a little too wild. Maybe there _is_ no Paris. Maybe he’s had an accident on the ice and he’s trapped in a coma in the hospital or something, and—

—but if he was trapped in a coma, wouldn’t he be visualizing his friends or his family or something and not some scene out of his own personal horror show? You see people you know when you’re near death, right? People from the in-between state.

Like Zayka.

And it makes more sense, since that’s a recurring dream he already has: the visitor from another world. Except… except Zayka isn’t a recurring dream, he’s _real_.

He’s real, and he’s done with Victor.

He’s real, and Victor’s real, and this is all real, and Victor bursts into tears.

Eventually he registers Makka whining and scratching at the door, but even then he can’t make himself get up and let her in, even though he knows that cuddling with her would probably help. What if she doesn’t recognize him? He practically doesn’t even recognize himself, and he hasn’t even made it to the mirror yet. He curls in harder and keeps choking out sobs.

After a while he hears Georgi come in and take her into the other room, which he should be grateful for because he doesn’t want to be distressing her like this, but even that has pitfalls that he doesn’t want to think about: Georgi still has his hair. And hasn’t turned into a raging idiot like Victor. Does he really have to deal with looking at that right now when his own life is such a mess? When he can’t even be trusted near one tiny pair of scissors while practically tied to a chair in the middle of a room _filled_ with people whose sole intent is to keep him still?

It feels like hours before he’s finally dried out. It’s another eternity until he gets up to splash some water in his face and take a good hard look at the stranger staring back out of the mirror.

There’s nothing of Victor in him.

No hair, no smile, no expression at all. His nose is raw and there are saggy purple bags set beneath hollow eyes in a too-pale face. His eyes try to dart to the side of the room where the tub sits and he jerks them back.

A knock rings out at the door. He doesn’t want to open it, not really, but what else can he do? Stay in there forever?

His hand shakes over the knob and his lips tighten. Better that then face the world. Or Georgi, or whoever else. As long as Victor’s here, he isn’t out there. As long as he’s here, nothing else about this is real yet.

Georgi’s voice comes through, muffled, letting Victor know that he’s back. Victor didn’t even know that he’d gone. Georgi doesn’t even live here anymore—he didn’t even need to come by in the first place. A lump rises in Victor’s throat. He doesn’t answer.

By the time he comes out of the bathroom, there’s a half-melted bowl of ice cream sitting on the rug in front of the door. He picks it up and wanders to the other room, where Makkachin is lying in a corner on top of one of his t-shirts, deep in the process of nervously chewing a hole in the chest, and Georgi is sitting on the couch with another bowl of ice cream and newly shorn locks of his own.

There’s a caboodle full of nail polish, a stack of about eight movies, a pillow version of Makka, and his largest, comfiest sweater sitting on the floor in front of the other seat on the couch. Victor pauses and Georgi looks up.

“Do you want to do my nails first, or should I do yours?”

He doesn’t mention the haircut at all—either of them—or the fact that usually it’s hair they do while movie-watching, and that they’ve never done nails at all, though they’ve certainly gone out to their fair share of salons.

Victor shrugs, shuffling past him to the kitchen to dump the melted goo and add another scoop of ice cream.

There’s a schedule on the counter of the times Georgi came by while he was in Paris to let Makka out. It’s ripped out of the pad of paper magnetized to the fridge, which is supposed to be perforated, but Georgi’s missed the lines scored in the sheet and instead the torn edge is uneven: going above the line on the left and below the line on the right.

He frowns. Georgi knows he abhors a mess.

He grabs the note and rips the top part off along the scoring. Somehow it looks worse, though, with the left side all even and the right side still ragged, so then he has to fold the whole thing over and press his thumbnails along the new crease a few times to weaken the paper so he can rip the whole top edge off in a straight line, which would be fine, except his hands shake in the midst of ripping that bit off and send a giant gash down across the text and he gets choked up yet again at the realization that he’s ruined the whole thing because of his stupid impulsiveness and need to fix things that should be left alone, and now his hands are shaking even more and—

A hand enters his vision and grabs the list. Victor stares at his fingers a second longer until he hears the sound of paper ripping even further and looks up to see Georgi shredding the whole list into paper confetti.

“It’s fine, I recorded it in my phone too. I can write another list up if you really want it.”

Victor swallows and bites his lip, and Georgi slings an arm over his shoulders, leading him back to the couch.

“How did you know?”

“Your agent called. Hands out.”

Olga called? That’s a breach of contract—the issue isn’t out until later this week. Victor opens his mouth to ask, but Georgi starts the movie and grabs his hands, laying them flat on a paper towel, so he closes it again, snatching one hand back so he can keep eating the ice cream. Georgi rolls his eyes and offers a soothing grin, patting Victor on the knee and holding up two colors for him to choose between. He still doesn’t mention their new looks.

“You cut your hair,” Victor comments halfway through the day, when the itchiness at avoiding the topic any longer gets overwhelming.

“…It was too much work,” Georgi says as he studiously applies a life-sized butterfly made entirely out of feathers to the nail of his ring finger. Maybe it’ll cover up the mess Victor made of the cuticles there. “Besides, now that I’m competing seniors it was time for a change anyway.”

Victor knows it’s a lie but he nods anyway, falling silent yet again. It’s easier that way. It’s enough.

Georgi doesn’t ask for an explanation after that or anything, but the movie isn’t distracting enough to keep Victor’s mind occupied anymore, and the silence of Georgi giving him space is slowly becomes almost worse than it is helpful because he feels like a total loser for needing this sort of coddling over a stupid haircut. It’s just that… this _isn’t_ just a haircut, not really—it’s like he’s physically carved an integral part of himself out and left it dripping on the table. It’s his self-image. It’s in his future plans. It’s his comfort blanket, his glamour, his mask. It’s... it’s something he wasn’t ready to lose.

But it also _isn’t_ him, and that’s what he doesn’t know how to explain. It’s _his,_ but it isn’t _him._ It’s so many things that make up him, but in the end all of those things it represents still belong to him and him alone. His hair, his image, is a part of him that he sometimes uses as a prop and he sometimes shares with people, but that doesn’t mean they can just ignore him and take it. He’s supposed to get to _choose_ when to bring them in.

That’s not a ridiculous thing to ask, is it?

“Of course it’s not a ridiculous thing to ask,” Georgi says once Victor figures out how to explain it to him. “And it’s not something you have to explain, either—you know that, right? I mean, I appreciate that you felt comfortable enough to tell me, but you don’t have to feel like it’s necessary in order for people to still accept you.”

“Well now you’re just making it sound like it was spurred on by something _bad_ when it’s just…” Victor twists his lips.

Georgi pauses the movie and turns in his seat so they’re facing each other.

“Vitya, if it made you uncomfortable, then it needed to stop. There was nothing wrong with your reaction, and it’s okay to feel messed up about it.”

Victor twists his lips and grabs the controller, turning the movie back on. He knows it’s rude, but he can’t deal with talking anymore.

Maybe it’s okay to be messed up, but it still feels like crap.

They’re in the next movie by the time he speaks up again.

“And it’s, it’s not that I don’t like people touching my hair because I _love_ it when you do it, and normally I think it’s kind of fun when they give me cool styles at photoshoots, but they just…”

“Kept pulling at it and ignoring you?”

“Yes! Like I was the prop and the hair was the real Victor, and then she just started going on and on about how I was so _lucky_ and all my friends must just _love_ playing with it and that’s not true at all because—”

Victor chokes on his words as he realizes what he was about to say.

“Because… Zayka can’t?” Georgi finishes for him.

Zayka shouldn’t matter at all; Victor’s supposed to be angry with him. But he’s all burned out on anger right now, or at least, it’s been eclipsed by recent events, and he can’t muster up the energy to still hold onto that bit when there’s so much other stuff going on now. Zayka at least understood him, _saw_ him. It’s hard to be angry with someone like that when even Victor didn’t even understand himself enough to foresee what he was going to do this past weekend.

And now he’s either gone or not, and Victor can barely even manage to wonder if he’ll ever be back.

 

—

 

**October, 2009**

**Saint Petersburg**

 

He only brings up Zayka one more time after the whole hair fiasco, but by the time he does, Georgi’s so sucked up in his own relationship that he just starts spouting dumb romantic advice like he thinks Victor _likes_ Zayka, which is ridiculous and annoying because he’s pretty sure he would know if he did, even if Georgi says he’s just ‘suppressing it’ or ‘in denial’ or some other BS. The one who’s really in denial is clearly Georgi, because he ends up getting carried away by the imaginary romance of the whole affair and runs off to propose to Katya after all, who turns him down, breaks up with him, and then kicks him out of their new apartment for good measure, and then Victor’s left picking up the pieces.

And if anybody _ever_ asks how he feels about that, he’ll lie his pants off. What Georgi needs is comfort right now. He doesn’t need to hear about how secretly relieved Victor is that it’s distracting him from wild ideas about Victor ‘pining for his fairy prince.’ He doesn’t need to know Victor’s clinging so hard to comforting him partly as a distraction from having to think about whether Zayka will show up to the Trophée Eric Bompard or not. That’s not fair to Georgi—to his best friend—even though Victor can’t stop. He’s not an _evil_ person; he wants to help Georgi for his own sake too, it’s just… well, he can’t help if it also makes himself feel better. He can’t help that he didn’t even want Georgi to move out in the first place and it’s really nice to have him back for a number of reasons that may not all be directly related to each other.

He can’t help it if it’s far easier to shove the thought of Zayka in the back of a drawer that he never opens and go about his life ignoring it when he’s helping Georgi move back in and not just kicking around his empty apartment with only Makkachin for company. And if the little one-eyed doll he got two years ago navigates itself into his suitcase when he heads out to France, well, it’s just a good luck charm in general and it has nothing to do with Zayka anyway.

Clearly.

Because Zayka doesn’t show.

 


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

****Chapter 7: Yuuri**  **

* * *

  

_ **Long Live the King** _

_Victor lounges on the throne from his photoshoot, nursing a steaming hot café express. It’s clear he can insert himself easily into the chic way of life here in France, much as one would expect from a skater with such glamor and poise._

_His hair hangs freely about his ears—and no lower!—as he gazes regally out over us, his willing subjects. It’s a classic, cultured style, and highlights both his perfect cheekbones and the maturity that’s become more and more visible in his programs over the last few years._

_The Victor of just a few scant hours ago was elegant, yet adorable and fun._

_The Victor sitting before me now—this Victor is elegance refined. This Victor is… sexy._

_My heart races._

**M** : Victor, obviously I have to ask the question all our readers will be burning with first! Why now? What spurred this new style?

_Victor smiles playfully, gazing into my eyes like he knows all my secret thoughts. When he opens his mouth, the answer is coy, a roguish reminder of the excitement and mystery which have come to define his career._

**Victor** : Oh come on now, Madeline! Surely you know me well enough by now to understand that I’m always redefining expectations!

_It’s clear from his air that he doesn’t just_ _want_ _to be redefining expectations, he_ _needs_ _to. But who could be surprised by that? Like the red queen behind the looking glass, in the world of skating you must always dash forward just to stay in the same place. The minute Victor stops redefining expectations is the minute they overtake him and he falls behind. Nobody can afford to get complacent, not even the king._

_I nod fervently, and Victor pauses, looking around like he’s about to tell me a secret he’s not supposed to. It’s scintillating—what kind of intimate details am I about to learn before anyone else in the world?_

**Victor** : Besides, it was getting boring!

_Everyone can understand that! How many of our readers have trimmed their locks as they turned over a new leaf in life? It’s the perfect segue into discussions about next season, but I just can’t let it go._

**M** : So you viewed your long hair as a restraint, in a way. Like it was holding you back, dragging you down.

_Victor hums thoughtfully. This is a thrill I didn’t anticipate, having insight into his psyche that even he didn’t appear to know before our conversation. What more can I uncover from the top figure skater in the world over the next forty minutes? He gazes into the distance over my shoulder, like he’s bidding farewell to his lost locks as they leave. When he speaks again, his voice is triumphant, even challenging._

**Victor** : Don’t expect to see it again anytime soon!

_This is a declaration I can support wholeheartedly… and you should too, once you see the photos in this issue’s spread! But speaking of what we can expect to see in the near future, I can’t hold back any longer from digging into Victor’s plans._

**M** : So what can we expect to see from you in this upcoming season?

_Victor smiles, quick and savage, like his opponents are standing in this very room with us. A shiver runs down my spine._

**Victor** : Gold.

_It’s so clear, so sharp, so_ _expected_ _… and the other skaters have every reason to be afraid. Victor Nikiforov is well and truly on his way to becoming a legend, and he has no plans to stop anytime soon…_

****

**August 23, 2009**

**En route to the 2009 JGP Budapest - Budapest, Hungary**

****

Yuuri’s eyes fly across the page, individual words blurring in and out as he searches for something he might have missed in the exclusive on Victor’s new haircut. He’s gone over it so many times by now that the lines keep blending together, skipping and rethreading to make new, nonsensical sentences. He squeezes his eyes shut, then blinks rapidly in an effort to clear his vision, but when he goes to start the article from the beginning again a hand passes into his view, holding a tiny cup filled to the brim with ginger ale.

He squeaks and lets the magazine drop to the tray in front of him, reaching out with both hands to catch it and take a sip before it bubbles over. The flight attendant smiles and hands him an extra napkin, tucking some more bags into the seat-back pocket.

“Everyone gets sick on planes sometimes, love, don’t be ashamed.”

Yuuri’s lips twist, but he jerks them smooth before nodding at her and forcing a smile. Maybe some people do, but never him.

Gazing down at the ginger ale, he catches another glimpse of the article through the edge of the cup, hazy and indistinct as though it exists in another world. That’s the thing about this whole story. It feels like it shouldn’t be real.

Not that Victor’s not _allowed_ to cut his hair, of course, he can do whatever he wants with his life, it’s just…

It just feels _off_ for some reason.

Would he really cut his hair just because it was getting _boring?_ Victor gets bored all the time. If anything, his hair is one of the things that he uses to stave _off_ his boredom—he’s always adjusting it when he’s waiting for things, he twirls it in his fingers when he doesn’t want to be in panels anymore, and he plays at new styles with Georgi all the time. Not one other skater changed their style (and by extension, practically their whole presence in their piece) so drastically for every single iteration of the same program last year. Maybe that could express perfectionism… but never boredom. Victor loves a challenge, and finding the right style to fit with the mood of his program was just that.

Which is why Yuuri’s surprised to read this. It’s a perfectly normal reaction—

_‘Oh, come on now.’_

The cup crumples in his grip as Victor’s voice pops into his head and Yuuri yanks it toward himself before the last bits of ginger ale can splash onto the magazine. He’s not quite quick enough: one stray droplet lands on Victor’s face in the first inset photo. Dropping the cup, he scrubs at the magazine with a napkin, but only succeeds in smearing the ink and blurring Victor’s features.

He plays at new styles with Georgi?

Victor doesn’t play at new styles with Georgi; or if he does, he’s never said so in interviews. So they both have long hair and it matches sometimes: so what? That could be a total coincidence.

_Victor_ doesn’t play at new styles with Georgi. That’s something Yuuri’s only imagined he might do. It’s something he’s only confirmed in dreams.

This reaction Yuuri’s having… it’s not surprise.

Or it _is_ , but not in the way he wants it to be. The simple matter of a haircut shouldn’t make him want to run and hide. People get haircuts every day. He tucks his shaking hands under his thighs, hunching over the faceless picture of Victor.

It’s not that he’s surprised he doesn’t know Victor well enough to predict what he’ll do next.

It’s that he’d somehow forgotten he doesn’t actually know Victor at all.

Yuuri’s spent so many years confiding in a dream of Victor that he nearly lost himself in it, lost the fact that it’s always, only ever, been a dream. A detailed dream, and one which surprises him all the time, but that version of Victor… he—no, _it_ —it’s just an imaginary friend, in the end.

Yuuri’s Victor isn’t real.

It’s a fairy tale, a daydream, a pale imitation of an actual human being, and above all else… it’s _wrong._

Yuuri’s been letting it blend into his perception of the real Victor. He’s been shoving this view, this _expectation_ for who Victor should be onto a real man, one who has his own life and enough on his plate without some self-absorbed fan coming in and demanding more, demanding that he live up to an elaborate alternate world of his own creation.

He feels dirty just thinking about it.

Hunched in his seat, Yuuri tries to hold back tears and waits for the airplane to land.

It’s a long time coming.

****

—

****

**August 27, 2009**

**JGP Budapest - Budapest, Hungary**

****

Minako-sensei comes to Yuuri’s room after his short program with a rolled up poster of Victor lounging on a throne, showing off his new haircut. She says it’s because his hotel room is too empty and it doesn’t feel homey enough, but Yuuri can read her eyes well enough to know that she’s concerned. This is his strongest program ever—in fact, it’s probably got some of the highest potential among all of the juniors—and yet he’s still too inconsistent: his nerves got the best of him (as usual) and he’s in the lower half of the pack, even though he should be able to skate this in his sleep.

Especially since he’s spent literal years dancing Swan Lake, absorbing it from his bones down to his very soul before he ever brought it into the world of figure skating with him.

It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in his free skate.

“You’ve had that magazine lying open to Victor’s photo spread all week, so I figured I’d sneak in front of Yuu-chan and finally give you one of his posters first! See, I even got a waterproof sleeve so you don’t have to worry about anything spilling on it on the plane back home!”

He winces, hugging his elbows and burying his cheek in his shoulder as he glances sidelong at the open magazine. It’s the main contributor to his distraction, but she doesn’t seem to realize it. Which is his own fault, really—he always keeps Victor memorabilia around. Why should this time be any different? She bustles past him and begins taping the poster next to the mirror on the one bit of wall large enough to hold it.

“There you go! Nearly life-sized, too—it’s almost like the real Victor is right here with us. Maybe he can cheer you on!” She checks her watch. “Oh, I’m late for a meeting down at the bar. Don’t forget you’re meeting Kato-san at the rink tomorrow instead of the rooms; I don’t want you waking me too early with your voices!”

And she’s gone again in a whirlwind, before Yuuri even has a chance to say anything. He bites his lip and looks at the poster of Victor with a soft approximation of a laugh.

“Right.” He sinks to the bed, scrubbing his fingertips against his palms. “Almost like the real Victor.”

Like he hasn’t already hurt himself and undermined the real Victor with that misconception, pretending he was meeting up with someone who was ‘almost like the real thing’ in hotel rooms just like this across the world for the past six years…

It’s fitting, considering his theme this year. Like Prince Siegfried, Yuuri has willfully blinded himself to the truth, and it’s coming back to torment him now.

Yuuri frowns, leaning forward and staring Victor in the eye.

Like Prince Siegfried…

He tucks his hands under his armpits, jumping up and pacing in a circle (or as much of one as he can traverse) and ending in front of the mirror. He glances at himself, and then back at the poster.

If Yuuri’s like Prince Siegfried, does that make Victor his Odette? The real Victor, that is. The boy Yuuri saw on the TV years ago and promised he’d meet someday. The man he forgot about in his selfish insistence on making up a dream version of him who revolved solely around his relationship with Yuuri.

If Yuuri’s like Prince Siegfried, gone astray… then who else stars in this farce?

Odette, the Victor he betrayed.

And Odile, the false Victor he betrayed him with.

He licks his lips, heart rate speeding up. Is this not what his free skate is about? Act four, when Siegfried finally comes to his senses and casts Odile away, begging Odette for forgiveness? Minako-san is always telling him to try to throw his real emotions into a piece—this is just about as close as he can get to being able to do that, isn’t it?

Maybe Yuuri can’t beg the real Victor for forgiveness just yet, but he can absolutely leave the dream one behind. He already knows it has to stop, for his own good. For Victor’s own good. He _must_ leave the dream behind.

But maybe… maybe he can start anew. He still has a chance to step away from where he’s at and reach for that world yet again. The real world of Victor Nikiforov: on the ice, under the lights. Skating as equals.

He might never make it to the podium with the other skater, but that’s his problem if it turns out that way. Victor deserves to be free of Yuuri’s expectations.

And maybe he will make it, and shouldn’t he try?

****

—

****

**October 14-18, 2009**

**JGP Bosphorus - Istanbul, Turkey**

**Trophée Eric Bompard - Paris, France**

****

There’s both more and less pressure than usual leading up to JGP Bosphorus. Had Yuuri done poorly at Budapest it might have been nice to have the time to prepare, but he somehow came from behind and made it to the podium after all, and the nearly two months between the two competitions just gives him time for it to sink in that this is his big chance to make it to the JGP Final again and prove he has something special when courting coaches… and to realize that if he blows it here, he’s also blowing his chance at getting someone to want him.

But his free skate really was a breakthrough, and he can’t deny that, no matter how much his anxiety might want him to. His pride won’t let him. This is a program he’s been waiting to do since before he could _walk_ , let alone skate, watching Swan Lake from the comfort of his mother’s arms… and he’s finally reached a point where he’s not only ready to perform it, he’s _lived_ it, in his own personal way.

They’ve tweaked the program even further since that last scramble in Budapest the day before the free skate, and he’s ready to give the critics something better to say than that ridiculous claptrap about “a formality to the emotions that leave you wondering if he’s held back by his overly strict adherence to classical ballet principles or, perhaps, simply too inexperienced at life to give true depth to this theme.”

Emotionally formal?? Siegfried is a _prince_ —he’s supposed to be determined and deliberate about casting Odile away. Yuuri’s seen the National Ballet of Japan perform it in person twice now, and Siegfried was regal and poised both times. Yuuri’s program is modeled after that Siegfried, and his own personal ballet form and technique are what make both of his programs strong enough to be competitive—how could they hold him back? He’s been told by multiple workshop instructors that he could easily audition to join a professional ballet company if he wanted that more than skating.

And maybe the short program had less of a personal connection, but Yuuri was _literally saying goodbye to his very own Odile_ in the long program, and yet they think he’s still too inexperienced? Just because he was being mature and responsible about it? That’s how a prince is supposed to act. Just because these judges come from cultures where everyone’s supposed to be throwing themselves dramatically over every surface they can find, doesn’t mean when someone acts with poise they’re not feeling anything. It’s absolutely ridiculous.

Regardless, he’s prepared himself even further over the past two months, watching every possible variation of the ballet he can find to every possible end between Siegfried and Odette, and practicing nearly all of them with Minako-san until he found something he might be happy to present.

And they’d better be happy to see it.

He’s so distracted by his fervor to prove them wrong about his so-called “over-formality” that he makes it all the way through the short program (to second place, no less) before someone reminds him that the Trophée Eric Bompard is also this weekend, and that Victor’s competing.

The Victor he’s determined not to imagine meeting for the first time ever since this all started. The Victor he’s promised to never dream about again.

His knees go out for a split second and he just barely catches himself on the locker before anyone else can notice. Michele glances his way anyway, but he doesn’t mention it, instead asking if he’ll be watching tonight—apparently some of the other juniors are having a party in one of their rooms. Yuuri shakes his head numbly. His tongue feels like cotton in his mouth. He’d known, of course he’d known that Victor was skating Trophée Eric Bompard this year—he’s Victor’s number one fan, after all.

So how could he have forgotten it was this weekend?

Were his daydreams really that unimportant? No wonder the critics thought his emotions were stilted, if it was really as easy as saying he’d stop and then just leaving his old Victor behind like nothing special. Sure he wasn’t real, but he’d practically been one of Yuuri’s best friends for years now, hadn’t he? Shouldn’t he have some sort of… closure? Is he really doing the right thing by just letting it go like this?

No, of course he’s doing the right thing—that Victor’s not real. Why _should_ he say goodbye to a made-up vision? No matter how much connection, how much joy he thought he had with him—it. With it.

Right?

He’s gone over this before. He has to leave that Victor behind. For his own good. For Victor’s good, even.

No matter how bad it feels.

Because it _would_ be worse if he kept doing it. And Yuuri doesn’t want to be that kind of person—he wants to be good, and do right by Victor, even if he doesn’t know him yet. He wants to admit that he doesn’t know him, instead of expecting him to be someone he’s not. And just because it hurts Yuuri right now… well, that’s better than hurting Victor later, right?

By the time he pries his fingers loose from the locker door they’re white and achy, and he’s alone in the room.

He climbs right into bed when he gets back to his room, but it feels like hours of tossing and turning before he can actually fall asleep. It’s compounded by the fact that every time he gets remotely comfortable his mind starts automatically drifting toward Victor now that he’s remembered it’s the Trophée Eric Bompard, and every time he jerks it away he also jerks himself closer to awake, which only makes him want to talk to the imaginary Victor all the much more, which in turn makes him feel even guiltier. He should have brought a short-haired poster or something like he had at his last competition—maybe then he’d have more of a reminder that this isn’t real. Maybe then it’d be easier to let it go.

He imagines shutting a door in his mind, and counts the grains of wood until he drifts away.

****

—

****

He’s dancing to Swan Lake.

From what he can tell, it’s the middle of act four, but he feels like if he just stretched his brain he’d remember doing the rest as well—he’s certainly tired enough to account for it, no matter how much stamina he usually has. The audience stares silently as he leaps across the stage, and for the first time he realizes that it’s not the community theatre in Hasetsu, but rather the New National Theatre in Tokyo, where the National Ballet of Japan performs.

…Has he always been a member of the NBJ? That seems wrong. Doesn’t he perform in Hasetsu?

The music cues Odette and he turns around, already reaching out, expecting—Yuuko, maybe? Some faceless ballerina? Perhaps even Minako-sensei herself?

A hand grasps his own and he blinks, staring at the fingers. The audience whispers darkly and Yuuri suddenly realizes that if he stops they’ll riot. Have they done so before? But the hand resting in his own is—

The people begin to loom in the shadows beyond the stage lights as the sounds of discontent grow louder.

Clearly he can’t stop dancing, and the music is pushing at him, so he throws himself back into the piece, drawing Odette into the light. His suspicions are proved right as Victor comes out of the shadows, dressed in that white feathered outfit from when he was a junior, complete with long flowing hair and a thin circlet that Yuuri doesn’t remember being there the first time around. There’s something wrong with this picture, but he can’t place a finger on it.

Victor passes behind him and catches his other hand, but when he comes back into Yuuri’s field of vision he has short hair and a heavier crown. Yuuri frowns. But he was just—is this Odile? This isn’t how things are supposed to be—where did _his_ Victor go? He tries to turn but Victor yanks him forward, and as he stumbles the audience starts muttering again, pressing ever closer, and he knows he doesn’t want _them_ to reach him, so he follows… and now both Victors are there, passing him back and forth in a strange sort of strange shifting pas de deus.

Minako-san climbs on a rock, dressed like Rothbart.

“You have to choose, Yuuri!”

Choose—?

The Victors twirl ever faster, weaving in and out from each other as Yuuri tries to slow the music down. But of course the first Victor is Odette, right? It’s Yuuri’s Victor, the one he belongs with—no. No, that’s not right. Right? Victor has short hair now. The real Victor. The real Odette. He grabs at the short-haired Victor’s hand, trying to guide him into the next pose, but he only laughs coldly and pushes Yuuri away. He stumbles and falls back, but the two Victors don’t seem to notice, continuing the pas de deux without him.

The audience starts seeping onto the stage, growing ever-louder as Yuuri scrambles to his feet and tries to find an entry into the Victors’ duet. Maybe Odette really is the long-haired one after all? But they’re spinning between each other so fast that he can’t keep them straight anymore, and Minako-san is still shouting “Choose!” at him, and he’s trying, really, he is, but every time he gets close enough to pick one, Victor’s face twists and he yanks his arm away before Yuuri can touch him.

And he’s on the ice now; it’s time to do his long program, but instead of men’s singles he’s skating doubles. Or he should be, but the two Victors are still there, and they’re skating it together, and he still can’t catch up, and Minako is laughing at him now, joined by all the coaches he’s been trying to meet, dark-eyed and frowning over the rink.

The Victors break apart and one of them begins skating toward the exit and Yuuri doesn’t even know whether it’s the right one or not, but if any of them step off the ice, he knows they’ll all be disqualified for ending the song too soon, and he can’t fail now, not with all the coaches watching, so he skates frantically over to catch him.

He’s too late, and Victor takes his final step right as Yuuri makes it to the edge.

The rink turns into water under him. 

Victor keeps walking away.

Yuuri scrambles to right himself, to swim, catching the ledge and opening his mouth to shout for Victor to come back, but something grabs at him, pulling him back into the water and under. He thrashes, kicking blindly at it until it stops tugging him down and he can get away. Heaving himself out of the rink-pool and gasping for breath, he collapses on the floor and turns back to see the other Victor, _his_ Victor, with long hair half done up in a fancy style from a hotel room long ago and half tangled out in bedraggled knots, sinking under as he reaches for Yuuri, tears of betrayal streaming down his face and into the water.

Yuuri’s ears are ringing with the echoes of the rink and the audience and the water and the screaming, but one voice rises above the rest.

_“Why are you killing me?”_

He wakes with salt on his lips, tangled amongst the bedsheets in a cold sweat and half-trapped between the mattress and the wall.

****

—

****

He cries again, later, when he’s skating his long program and the sense memory practically throws him bodily back into his dream. He doesn’t even realize that he’s modifying his motions to match until he’s nearly through, and by that point the ending he’s supposed to do won’t work either, so he modifies that too, spiraling under in the struggle as he and Odette pull each other ever deeper below the water.

Eventually the lake fades away and he’s left alone on the ice.

That’s how it always is, in the end.

Minako-sensei cries too, but her tears are beautiful, unlike Yuuri’s great heaving sobs. Even Kato-sensei dashes a hand under his eye as Yuuri slowly dries out. His ears feel like they’re under pressure, like he’s somehow still stuck with Odette under the surface of the lake, voices and sounds pulsing through the kiss and cry in muffled waves just beyond his comprehension.

Eventually Minako-sensei starts hugging him while Kato-sensei claps him on the back, cheering in a clamor that makes him want to cover his ears even though he can’t because he has to be happy. She says something about the critics, but he’s beyond caring about them at this point.

He just feels sick.

Victor’s not even a real person; he’s just a figment of Yuuri’s imagination. What does it say about Yuuri that he would fall apart in the middle of a competitive program over the loss of some sad apparition he created himself? How could he even think it’s right to mourn it like a dead love?

And why can’t he stop?

****

—

****

**October, 2009**

**Hasetsu, Japan**

****

For the rest of his time in Istanbul, everyone keeps trying to ask Yuuri where his free skate came from, but he somehow manages to brush them off with subject changes and bland platitudes until he makes it back to Hasetsu. He’s too empty to try to scrape up any sort of meaningful explanation of his performance—the words are still out there on the ice, left behind with the emotions he tore out. Somehow it feels like the shattered pile should be visible if anyone were to check.

Unfortunately, by the time he gets to his first practice post-Bosphorus, his coaches come prepared with a video of his performance and a refusal to let him on the ice until he discusses his plan going forward with them. Yuuri never exactly _likes_ watching videos of himself skating—it never looks as good as it felt in the process—but he usually watches at least once anyway, even if only to critique his performance so he can get better in the future. But this time is different… he’s not sure whether he wants to see it or not, considering the turmoil he felt during his free skate and the emptiness he’s still feeling now. Sure, it should be at least somewhat satisfying, considering his score, and definitely surprising, because he still doesn’t even fully recall the changes he made in the moment… but he almost doesn’t _want_ to see it. Or rather, he’s terrified. How much of his heart escaped onto the ice for everyone to see?

In the end, the only thing that gets him to sit down and pay attention (besides the fact that he’d never go against his coaches like that) is morbid curiosity. It can’t have been _that_ much. Someone would have said something, otherwise. Or at least, he hopes so.

His hope lasts as long as it takes for the video to begin.

A few years ago, Minako-sensei took him to the Fuji-Q Highland amusement park. They were on the way to Nationals, and she thought it might help him let off steam and get out of his head before the competition. Riding the Fujiyama for the first time, he almost forgot how to breathe. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and by the time it rolled to a stop Yuuri couldn’t even stand up. He sat on the coaster clutching the belt for over a minute, legs turned to jelly as he struggled to come down from the rush so he could get off and let the next set of riders load.

Watching the video of his long program… it feels the same way. He almost doesn’t recognize himself, physically, but at the same time it’s impossible to miss Yuuri (and, by extension, Victor) in the story, in the _emotions_. It’s powerful and poignant and terrifying all at once. That’s his whole secret right there on the ice, writ large for anyone who cares to look for it.

Yuuri shivers as Minako-sensei looks at him expectantly. It takes several tries to form a sentence—even his lips are tingling.

“I—I can’t—”

Minako-sensei nods like she somehow understands. She doesn’t. “I know you struggle with consistency, Yuuri, but this is a new level. Yes, the thought of repeating it may be intimidating now, but we have plenty of time to practice. By the time Finals roll around, you can be doing this on purpose every time!”

“No, I—” Yuuri clenches his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. It’s not that he’s afraid he can’t do it—clearly he can. It’s just…

Too much.

Too much of himself, too much of his emotions, his secrets, his _life._

In less than five minutes, that video already contains more of Yuuri than he’s ever shown to anybody else in his entire life. More of Yuuri than he ever _wants_ to share. It’s a part of Yuuri that he can barely even admit to himself, let alone someone else.

And if he does mess up… there’s no persona to hide behind; it’s all _him_ they’re judging.

Kato-sensei claps a hand on his shoulder and Yuuri jumps. “This is your future, son. I’m no elegant swan like you two, but even I know you can’t do the program from August again and expect to medal, not after last weekend.”

“We have to! I can’t do that again. I can’t!”

Kato-sensei frowns and Yuuri looks to Minako-sensei for help, for a sign that she understands in some way and can back him up on this.

She narrows her eyes. “Yuuri, you will lose if you back down now. You understand that, right? Not just once. You will lose and you will keep losing if you run away like this right when you’re about to reach a new level. This is your make-or-break moment.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a shaky breath and the beginnings of tears. He shakes his head silently and looks down, trying desperately to hold them back.

She sighs and crouches in front of him. “Are you scared? That it was a one time deal and you won’t be as good at it if you try again?”

That’s not—it’s not that he’s _not_ scared that he won’t be as successful again, because of course he is, he’s always afraid he won’t be as good as he’s supposed to be. But that’s not it, and he doesn’t want to lie to her, but he also can’t tell her what it’s really about without admitting how much of it was real, and he definitely can’t do that.

She presses her lips together for a second, then two, then a full minute as they stare each other down. Finally she sighs and gets back up, turning around and tapping against the wall like she does when she’s plotting out a show. Kato-sensei steps toward her but she waves him off, switching to a brisk pace back and forth as she gestures along with whatever thoughts are running through her head.

Yuuri hunches his shoulders and works on his breathing exercises as he watches her.

“Okay,” she whirls on them both. “Okay, we’ll make this work. You won’t do the program from Bosphorus again, and you can’t do the one from Budapest. We all agree on that.”

Kato-sensei nods as Yuuri shakes his head. Minako-sensei grins, rubbing her hands together.

“So let’s pull a Victor.”

“A _what??”_

“You surprised everyone this weekend, Yuuri. We know you, we know what you’re capable of—and you went beyond that! You had almost the same program, but you gave it a _completely_ different feel. You pushed your boundaries, and in doing so, you proved you could. That’s the kind of thing Victor Nikiforov is known for. It’s what it means to grow as a skater. So let’s leave both variations behind. We’ve already been playing around with Swan Lake’s other endings in your dancing—let’s bring another one to Finals. A completely different, completely new interpretation!”

She sits next to him on the bench, grabbing one of his hands and uncurling his fist, clasping it loosely between both of her palms.

“And if you fail, at least you do it while trying something beyond the reach of most of the other skaters out there. And that’s _beyond_ impressive.”

Yuuri’s hand spasms around hers. What she’s suggesting isn’t just impressive—it’s practically impossible. Three totally different programs? Or more, even, if she also means to switch things up for any of the competitions after the JGPF. It doesn’t have the potential of failure, it has a near one hundred percent guarantee…

But then again, Yuuri already has a practical guarantee of failure at some point in any given season, doesn’t he? He’s nothing if not a realist, and he’s well aware that he’s known for his inconsistency for a very good reason.

And isn’t it better to fail while trying something that’s never been done before than to embarrass himself on something everyone already knows he can do better?

And if he doesn’t fail…

His heart speeds up and his arms break out in goosebumps all over again.

If he doesn’t fail, he could make history.

****

—

****

**November 5-8, 2009**

**NHK Trophy - Nagano, Japan**

****

Half the town gathers to watch Victor’s short program in the main room of the Onsen, mingling exuberantly with the visiting guests, most of whom have no clue what’s going on but are excited to experience the local culture anyway. Yuuri’s face exists in a low-grade state of redness, cooling as he gets caught up in the party only to rise again every time someone else points him out to a visitor as their very own local competitive figure skater and number one Victor fan. Yuuri’s parents relish the action, bragging over drinks served about how their son is going to compete at the finals in Tokyo next month.

It’s not exactly an unusual occurrence—they always host parties for the competitions that are cast on local television—but it’s definitely a weird one this time around, considering Yuuri’s spent the last month being hounded about a free skate focused entirely on his messed up feelings surrounding Victor, with no way to ever forget it or even admit it’s about the other skater. To see him on the television screen again after all that, to be questioned by a new person every two seconds about whether he’ll meet him at the combined Grand Prix/Junior Grand Prix Final… Victor shrugs at the camera and a knife twists just a bit in Yuuri’s insides.

“Have you met any of the skaters competing this weekend?”

Yuuri jumps, turning to find Mari’s ex-boyfriend settling in next to him with a loaded plate. His eyes fly back to the screen where Victor’s being replaced by Christophe Giacometti in the pre-skate interviews, and he suppresses a sigh of relief. Chris, at least, he knows in real life.

“Actually, I competed several times with Chris Giacometti before he went up to seniors. He might even give Victor a run for his money up there.”

“You really think so?”

Any other year he’d probably say no—Victor’s called the king for a reason, after all—but Victor came in second to Cao Bin at the Trophée Eric Bompard and Chris ran away with the gold at Rostelecom, so Yuuri shrugs.

Chris nods on screen, looking contemplative. “Absolutely. You can’t shy away from the bad parts of life, as a professional. Every experience is something you can grow from, especially if you can let yourself really feel it on the ice.”

“I like that,” Matsumoto-san muses with a nod. “Do you ever do that?”

Yuuri rocks his head back and forth with a noncommittal hum. “It’s… harder than it sounds.”

Chris’s program this year is about self-acceptance, and doesn’t shy away from hitting hard at the low notes of rejection and adversity he’s gone through on the way. It’s something Yuuri’s incredibly proud of him for, especially considering he could have easily been rejected again for his final result. The closest Yuuri’s ever gotten to showing any of his true self and struggles on the ice was Bosphorus, and _that_ was a pure accident which he still gets hives sometimes over the thought of people seeing on video.

Nishigori snorts from his seat across the table. “Of course it’s hard for you, Yuuri—you don’t have bad things in your life to pull from!”

Yuuri blinks, something inside him tightening for a brief second. True, it’s not like Nishigori knows about his current problems surrounding Victor, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing else painful to draw from. Just because he has a decent life doesn’t mean that he doesn’t lie awake at night hating himself sometimes because he can’t stop second guessing and judging every single thing he does. Nishigori hasn’t ever seen him struggle with his programs because Yuuri’s so terrified by the thought of letting people down if he isn’t perfect that half the time he can’t even skate when his _coaches_ are watching, let alone anyone else. Nishigori never has to deal with the fact that the only person he would even _consider_ showing his internal struggle to isn’t even _real_ , and that if he ever so much as dares to put his true self in an actual program then the minute people see it and start judging it what they’re really judging is _him,_ so yes, it absolutely _is_ hard, and it’s even harder because the parts of his life that make things painful are the parts that also make him unable to use them!

Matsumoto-san knocks his shoulder against Yuuri’s. “Well, I can’t talk to Yuuri’s life, but I’ll agree that it’s definitely a high risk, high reward sort of scenario.”

“What’s this idiot gambler talking about now?” Mari slams down a plate in the nonexistent space between them, kneeing Yuuri from behind as she wedges her way in. “On that note: did I ever tell you about the terrible songs he wrote after we broke up? He compared me to a blackjack dealer, and also the Queen of Clubs. It was amazing.”

Matsumoto-san goes scarlet and Nishigori bursts out laughing. “Are you sure he didn’t write them after you bleached your hair? You look like a total yankii; I’m almost positive Yuu-chan’s mother wept at the sight.”

Ise-san is Hasetsu’s most popular hairdresser, and had indeed had about twenty things to say about both the bleach job and the piercings, all of which she maintains were done by complete amateurs. Yuuri had, of course, repeated all of it to his sister the minute he got a chance to tease, but she’d stuck her tongue out and turned the conversation around on him instead, unfortunately winning that round.

Mari grins, evidently thinking along the same lines. “Well I’m sure Yuuri also wept at the sight of Victor Nikiforov’s new hair, so she’s in good company—they can cry together at your wedding someday, if Yuu-chan decides to marry down.”

Nishigori and Yuuri both start sputtering at the same time as Mari and Matsumoto crack up. Distracted by the sound of laughter, his dad waves and tries to toast them from across the room, missing the fact that there’s a step-down right in front of him and tumbling forward, sending a full glass of beer right into the lap of Mari’s other ex. Jumping up from the table at the distraction, Yuuri grabs a wad of napkins and rushes over to help.

If he also jostles Mari’s plate enough to mix the sauces in the process, well, who can prove it? Everyone knows Mari’s particular about her foods staying separate. Surely her devoted brother would never stoop so low, and therefore her squawk and outraged snatch for his leg as he scurries away must be about something else.

Kyouko-chan grins as he helps her mop up the spill, most of which was thankfully contained by the napkin in her lap. “I know that laugh. Teasing you about something?”

“Surely she couldn’t have been so bad when you were dating her!”

“Oh, she was worse I’m sure, but that’s because she was following my example.” She leans in with a wink. “I have a younger sister and an older brother, and they’re both more successful than me—I have no other output but teasing!”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I’m not _that_ successful, and anyway, she’s always been this bad.”

“Not so! I hear you’re hitting it out of the park this season—Mari truly doesn’t stop bragging about you whenever you’re not around.” She glances across the room to where Mari and Nishigori appear to be explaining the Ina Bauer to Matsumoto-san using some truly horrendous charades, and her face softens.

“Are you…” Yuuri stops himself from finishing the question. It just seems strange, Mari coming home with not one but two friendly exes, and all of them getting along. Usually the way it’s supposed to go is complete avoidance, isn’t it? That’s how it seems to work out when people break up at his school.

She smiles and answers anyway. “I think I’ll always be a little in love with her. But we needed different things out of a relationship.”

“But you’re still…”

“Still friends? Yes, absolutely.”

Yuuri nods so it looks like he understands and starts piling the damp napkins on a dirty plate. Close enough friends to come home to her kid brother’s early birthday party just to watch a skating championship with all their family? He can’t imagine ever being that comfortable with someone… not that he can imagine even dating anyone in the first place.

A face pops into his head and he shoves it aside.

Kyouko-chan sighs, resting her cheek on her fist as she gazes sidelong at the other table. “I guess what I mean is… well, just because we couldn’t be everything to each other doesn’t mean we have to be nothing to each other, right?”

****

—

****

Kyouko-chan’s words are still echoing in Yuuri’s head by the time the party winds down and he’s getting ready for bed. Not that his situation is the same at all, because it’s not even close. Victor’s not a real person—the fake Victor, that is, not the real one, who still doesn’t know anything about all this and never will if Yuuri can help it, so it’s pointless to think about him in the same way.

Yuuri kicks his covers off and almost immediately regrets it, pulling them back up again with a huff. Sure enough, after about a minute he’s roasting again. He groans and pushes them halfway down this time, pulling his pillow over his face in the process. It’s not like his situation even aligns with Mari and Kyouko-chan’s, but… he can’t help but want it to.

Everything about this season has been so hard, and Victor—the dream Victor—is the one person Yuuri’s truly been able to just forget himself and exist with. The thought that the dream could be at least something to Yuuri if not everything (obviously not everything) is so tempting it makes his stomach squirm, and the fact that he’s beginning to miss it just makes him hate himself all over again.

Even if he hadn’t _actually_ been hurting the real Victor with his little coping method, he’d clearly gotten too strongly sucked into it, and the thought that he misses it now, even just a little, is honestly a bit terrifying. What if he hadn’t ever managed to rip himself away from the illusion? What if he’d continued projecting so strongly that he ran the chance of actually meeting Victor someday and acting like he was owed things his idol had no obligation to give?

Besides, he’s getting too old to have an imaginary friend when it comes down to it. Chances are he’s going to end up moving alone to some other place across the world by this time next year, and if he can’t even handle his life here without dreaming of Victor, how is he supposed to handle that? It’s not like this is on the same level as a stuffed poodle he can throw in his suitcase as a reminder of home. Not when there’s a real person at the other end of it.

He rolls over and squashes his pillow back into its proper place, trying valiantly to squish the thoughts of Victor out of his head as well… except now he’s face-to-face with Vicchan, whose breath smells, and he can’t get the song from the other skater’s short program out of his head. Part of it reminds him of Victor’s old Lilac Fairy piece in a way that almost feels deliberate. It’s the kind of thing he’d probably ask about if he were still imagining their meetings. Which is exactly what he doesn’t want to be reminded of, not when he’s lying here trying not to miss them.

He ends up tossing and turning for about an eternity longer before he finally drifts off, and in the end his whole struggle doesn’t even matter because he opens his eyes in the middle of the night, looks around at a strange hotel room, and realizes in an instant that he’s dreaming.

It feels so much like they used to, except for the part where he didn’t build this room from the ground up in his mind’s eye, and of course, how could his first ever lucid dream be about anyone but Victor? That’s just who he is. What they are.

It’s infuriating.

He doesn’t want to turn around but he can’t sit there with his back turned either, not knowing what’s behind him, not knowing whether he’ll find a pair of blue eyes staring back at him, so he does anyway. Sure enough, there’s Victor, sound asleep in the middle of a nest of pillows. His heart stutters and he almost calls out before clapping a hand over his mouth, stumbling back at the force of it. What, just because he didn’t do this on purpose he gets to forget everything that he’s beat into himself over the past few months?

Victor’s still a real person out there, and no matter how much Yuuri might miss these daydreams (or real dreams now, apparently), no matter whether he planned this or not, he still doesn’t have enough of a divide between the two in his heart to be able to handle it. What if he meets the real Victor at Finals? There’s little doubt Victor will end up there, and Yuuri’s already been announced for the JGPF. Could he ever look Victor in the eyes, having daydreamed his own shallow version of him for his own shallow comfort?

But what does he do now that he’s here? It could be a chance to say goodbye, to end this with closure… but is Yuuri even ready to do that on a moment’s notice like this, without any preparation? The version of Victor he’s created over the years would be devastated—would this new dream version react in the same way, and if he does, can Yuuri deal with that?

A beam of light slants through the cracked curtains and across Victor’s prone form, lighting his shorn hair up like the moon itself. Yuuri stares, transfixed, as the thoughts tumble into a mixed-up mess at the back of his brain. Maybe he can wait just a little while longer before deciding what to do. Maybe Victor will wake up and decide for him. He’s not avoiding things, exactly, he’s just…

Yuuri sighs.

He’s just not there yet.

He ends up watching Victor from afar until the light of the rising sun nearly floods the room and Victor finally stirs with purpose. He’s so caught up in his own thoughts by then that the movement takes him completely by surprise, and he falls entirely out of the dream and back into his own bed, heart pounding at the thought that Victor might have heard him in that final minute before he opened his eyes, though he knows it’s far from possible.

So he never managed to say goodbye, but maybe it’s for the better to just let it drift into nothingness anyway. A dream could never really be something of the true Victor, so why should he let it be anything?

****

—

****

**December 3-9, 2009**

**Grand Prix Final of Figure Skating - Tokyo, Japan**

****

As the JGPF grows closer, the hours Yuuri spends on various Swan Lake interpretations grow longer, threatening to overtake even the basics needed to keep him going. Changing things so close to the final is a risky endeavor, not to mention the fact that they’re working on multiple different versions as they explore the best option to bring to the table. It’s only even marginally doable because they’re not actually changing any huge technical aspects of the program; no matter how much effort he puts in, his skating skills won’t change in such a short period of time, and he only has so many jumps down cleanly. Rather, they’re pushing the boundaries of what he can make the audience feel with him through the use of just a few tweaks and swaps here and there in the choreography… and more than a few giant changes in the performance and interpretation.

It doesn’t stop after practice, either—Yuuri’s been spending nearly every waking moment that he’s not on the ice in the ballet studio, and when his legs stop working he crashes on the nearest soft surface he can find with some bootleg copy or another of Swan Lake, which he usually ends up watching all the way up until sleep takes him. He and Minako-sensei have been working through every conceivable version out there in search of inspiration, and the songs are so entwined with his psyche by now that he even finds himself chewing to the beat when he gets to mealtimes.

He’s already let Odette fly off in swan form as he mourned earlier on this season, and rejected both her and his own heart so harshly that they dragged each other down in the struggle in Bosphorus. A smart man would pick a single third option and leave it at that, but in this case ambition wins out, and he’s already looking beyond the Junior Grand Prix Final. Japanese Nationals is only two weeks afterward and if he’s going to bring another transformed routine to the final, he wants—no, _needs_ —to be all-in on changing things at every competition from here on out.

The one they decide on for the final flows from a dramatic confrontation with Rothbart to a tragic end as Siegfried accidentally kills Odette in his ill-begotten fight to free her. Yuuri likes to think it’s a fitting compromise between the intensity of the Bosphorus program that put him on the map and the so-called “formal” and “inexperienced” mourning in Budapest.

Practically the whole town is on edge as he gears up to go—this is his chance to represent them in a major way, and half of them have known about his admiration for Victor forever. Even his elderly neighbors (who, after years of thinking Yuuri was friends with Victor, seem to have finally realized he’s never actually _met_ him) tell him to stop scuffing around and just _say_ something to the fellow skater.

He smiles and nods with no intention of following through. It doesn’t even feel like he’s lying when he does it. Even if he doesn’t use actual words to say something to Victor, his presence in Yuuri’s life—the very _idea_ of him—is threaded throughout Yuuri’s entire program. And if he uses just a little bit of that to mourn the loss of a Victor who never existed, well, it’s not like anyone but himself will ever know.

****

—

****

Not that Yuuri _wants_ to keep using Victor for his own personal gain, but the version of him who’s been in Yuuri’s dreams for the past seven years was a major part of his life, regardless of whether he likes it or not. And even if that Victor hadn’t been based off the other skater, leaving the dream behind… it really does feel like losing half his heart, and with no real closure to stitch it back up again.

And so he doesn’t shy away from exploring that worst case scenario when he steps on the ice for his long program. It’s what he’s built for, after all: he lives in a constant battle against his anxiety playing out the worst possible scenarios in his head at every little encounter. It actually feels cathartic to let it run wild for a good purpose this time.

The audience remains hushed for a good fifteen seconds after Yuuri’s prince mourns to death at his ultimate mistake, and then they rise with such a great roar that he nearly whacks his head against the ice flinching back.

Later, he wonders off-hand whether he was right all those years ago when he imagined Victor saying that he never watched juniors. It’s easy enough to be true—the seniors don’t compete at all on day of Yuuri’s short program, and junior pairs separate the junior free block from the senior short programs.

The idea of Victor watching is… well…

It’s widely known that Victor Nikiforov doesn’t care for Swan Lake. Or, at least, he’s made it clear that he won’t ever draw from that particular ballet for a program, though he hasn’t explained why. Does he hate Swan Lake as much as Yuuri had imagined last year when he practiced defending his decision to skate an overdone classic?

Would Victor look down on Yuuri’s program for those or other reasons, or would he appreciate it as a fellow winning program? Would any part of it echo deep within in his soul, a strange recognition of a shadow of himself that Yuuri could never, ever, admit to the real man?

Dwelling on all that probably doesn’t do Yuuri much good, but he’s still wondering later that evening after the seniors are done, hanging around in his street clothes like just another nameless fan when he hears his name called from behind. He turns around to see Chris Giacometti and Georgi Popovich, and, for one heart-stopping moment, Victor Nikiforov, before the image of Victor resolves into a life-sized cardboard cutout being carried by another fan.

It turns out Chris wants to apologize for missing his free skate because all the seniors were occupied elsewhere, and Yuuri nearly goes boneless at the sudden loss of tension. He clutches at a nearby chair, losing track of the conversation as he recovers from the emotional whiplash.

“—karaoke?”

Yuuri blinks, looking back and forth between Chris and Georgi in sudden consternation as he tries to process what Chris has been talking about. Georgi smiles awkwardly. It’s not helpful.

“You want suggestions? I’m not sure which places around here are best…”

Chris laughs. “Yuuri, my love, I cannot tell you how sincerely I do not care whether the place we go to is quality or not. This is about getting ridiculous and letting loose after the tragedy of falling all over the place—the trashier the better, to be honest!”

“I’m pretty sure Chris is the only one who’s ever been, anyway,” Georgi volunteers, “unless you have as well, that is. Definitely Victor and I haven’t.”

Chris slings his arms around Yuuri and Georgi’s shoulders. “It’s perfect! Yuuri, you can meet the seniors since you’ll be joining us soon enough, and everyone else gets to experience a new life event!”

Yuuri chokes as he registers the full plan. Not only does Chris want Yuuri to come out and embarrass himself in front of his idol, but apparently he wants Yuuri to come out and embarrass himself in front of literally all of the rest of the seniors (who are all _his_ seniors) as well. Because tagging along as the local try-too-hard junior is _really_ going to get everyone to accept him quicker. No, better to stay away until he can truly say they’re on equal footing. Better to never meet Victor at all until he can make it to the same podium, let alone the same ice.

He waves a hand around vaguely and tries to duck away, but Chris tightens his arm in the process so it all just ends up looking like awkward flailing in front of Georgi and leads to Yuuri’s voice coming out several registers higher than planned as he turns the offer down.

Chris gives him a knowing look as Yuuri tries valiantly to will the color out of his cheeks—he’s probably hung out with Yuuri more than any of the other skaters (or at least, he did before he moved up to seniors), and he’s well aware that Yuuri’s been looking up to Victor for years. Yuuri trusts him not to bring it up to Victor himself when they go out on the town, but hopefully that extends to Georgi as well, considering his status as a well-known confidant of the idol… and on that note, hopefully Georgi isn’t inclined to gossip to Victor about the graceless junior he met today either.

If so, he just might manage to make it out unscathed. Even the expo is canceled, so he doesn’t have to worry about combining with the seniors for any group skate there either. Some sort of mechanical problems with the thermometer started causing the ice to slowly melt throughout the evening, and it wasn’t discovered until the seniors all started falling. The timeline for getting it fixed is uncertain at this point, so they’re sending all the fans home early and the only thing going on tomorrow is the banquet, which Minako-sensei already has Yuuri fully booked through talking to potential coaches.

He just has to get through tonight, and then he’s safely home and away from the stress of meeting other skaters.

Or, well, one in particular.

****

—

****

The street’s awash with a multitude of neon lights in all the colors of the rainbow: on, off, and on again as the open restaurants and bars bubble out between the closed storefronts, like they’ve been crammed into every nook and cranny available. Every once in a while there’s a burst of laughter or song from an open door or a group of people on the street, but Yuuri remains quiet as he takes in the sights. He hadn’t gotten out to wander Tokyo much before he had to skate—he was too focused on ensuring he had his new program down pat—and now it still feels almost dreamlike to be wandering this city that’s a weird mix of familiar and unfamiliar.

He frowns, stepping closer to the nearest storefront.

It doesn’t feel _almost_ dreamlike; it _is_ dreamlike. How did he even get to this street? Hadn’t he been planning on going straight to bed tonight?

It’s late out, but that’s not unusual for him: Yuuri often finds himself wandering Hasetsu after most people have already gone to bed—mostly when he’s coming home from a late practice at the rink or the ballet studio, but other times as well. Especially recently, what with the extra hours thrown into preparing for the Junior Grand Prix Final.

Except he’s not in Hasetsu, is he?

And he’d had a specific reason for not wanting to go out tonight… hadn’t he?

The Final is over; Yuuri won the gold, congratulated Chris on his matching medal, and… turned down the invite to karaoke. He’d wanted to avoid any embarrassment from hanging out with seniors before he was ready, or from meeting Victor when he still struggles with keeping the real man separate from his dream-version. It’s only fair, to both of them.

So why is he in Tokyo now? Yuuri wouldn’t have gone out after turning down that invite—he wouldn’t want to somehow run into the others while out on the town.

The storefront next to him is dark and glassy, reflecting the wild lights from the street and hiding whatever items might be within. When he turns to face it fully, his reflection stares back as well.

It’s wearing the outfit of a danseur: King Rothbart, from Swan Lake.

Yuuri frowns.

That’s wrong.

It ripples, and changes into something more reminiscent of Prince Siegfried. It’s that moment in which he realizes he’s dreaming—he stumbles back a half-step in sudden consternation. Dreams aren’t supposed to be like this: he’s not supposed to be tricked into thinking it’s real.

Or at least, he’s not supposed to figure out it’s a dream and still feel like it’s somehow real.

And it _does_ feel real: he turns a slow circle, examining the street, and nothing registers as wrong or off in any way. It’s a perfectly normal street, one he might even have walked down once, but that’s it. There are no shops or elements taken from other streets he knows; there’s no language he can’t read or signs advertising strange dreamy things. It’s just a regular Tokyo road: wider than the ones in Hasetsu, and with taller buildings, and that’s it. There’s a convenience store across the street and another one a block down. If he stares hard enough at the window he can see the outlines of athletic gear and a sign advertising a sale. A burst of music spills out from a bar as a normal looking businessman exits to the sidewalk.

He hears laughter echo behind him and turns to see a group of the senior competitors stumble out of the karaoke place down the street.

Victor’s dozing on Georgi’s back, his silver hair reflecting the neon sign above and shimmering in a multitude of colors like a fairy prince. Like some sort of otherworldly being. There’s a hint of a frown between his eyebrows, and Yuuri wonders if it has anything to do with the bronze medal around his neck. Victor didn’t do well today—but then, none of the seniors did, as the ice grew rougher. They should have stopped the competition altogether before someone fell and seriously injured themselves.

Chris was the only senior who didn’t fall, or even wobble at least once, and the gold around his neck reflects that (not to mention the healthy flush of exhilaration and alcohol around his cheeks and neck, although some of that could be from the karaoke).

Maybe he should have gone along to karaoke after all. It looks like they had fun—there’s another group behind those three who are still singing, and Georgi looks like he’s telling jokes. Chris laughs and steadies Victor’s torso as it starts sliding sideways off Georgi’s back.

Yuuri smiles despite himself and takes a half-step toward them before feeling his cloak swirl with the motion and stopping, staring in consternation at his reflection in the dark window.

This is a dream. No matter how real it feels, this is a dream.

This is the real Victor he’s dreaming about; not the version he created in his heart. There’s a real man out there, maybe coming home from karaoke right now, and Yuuri already turned down the chance to meet him. He knows nothing of Yuuri, beyond maybe a vague face or a sense that he might be a competitor in the future (if Victor even follows juniors, that is). Meeting with his dream-Victor, acting like this encounter is one of his old scenarios—it’s a dangerous route to go down when he could bump into the real deal at the banquet tomorrow.

He’s already discovered a tendency to mix them up: even if he hasn’t planned this dream out, he can’t go along with it and then somehow let the wrong thing slip out of his mouth tomorrow. He bites his lip, tugging at the wrist of his doublet as he looks himself over in the glass. It’s a fitting picture: the lonely prince, tortured yet again by his own inability to see what’s real.

When he glances at the seniors again, Victor’s eyes are open and he’s staring right at Yuuri. Not through him, not past him: _at_ him. Yuuri jumps, whirling to check the other people on the street, but nobody else seems to register his presence. He jerks his eyes back toward the skaters only to find Victor in the process of flailing himself off of Georgi’s back and pushing past the others, mouth forming a question as he stumbles on the uneven sidewalk.

Yuuri’s heart stops and he scrambles backwards, nearly tripping over his own cape in the process. At that Victor hesitates, eyes flitting across Yuuri’s face, and that ghost of a frown comes back. His hand flutters like he wants to reach out, and he slowly comes to a halt. Eyes still locked on Yuuri’s, he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth—and like a coward Yuuri squeezes his shut, banishing the dream in the process.

****

—

****

**December 25-27, 2009**

**Japan Figure Skating Championships - Kadoma, Osaka, Japan**

****

After taking first at the Junior Grand Prix Final, Yuuri is invited to compete with the senior men at Nationals. Yuuko says it’s because they want him on the Olympic team, but that’s a thought he can’t entertain. They always invite some of the juniors up for the Nationals before the Olympics. It’s only practical. It’s not like they want Yuuri in particular; they just want the largest field to choose from.

But even when he tries to explain it away, it’s hard to kick the flutter in his stomach at the thought that he’s achieved enough to be one of the ones invited. This is his big chance to prove to the world that training in small-town Hasetsu is worth just as much as the training empires out there under big-name coaches, that his community _means_ something in the world of skating. That he shouldn’t have to leave if he wants to make something of himself.

But it’s also his only chance. Minako-sensei’s practically days away from signing him over to a fancy Italian coach in America, and his parents are ready to send him packing as soon as he finishes school. They’ve already been asked by one reporter why they’re bothering to prioritize his school in the first place when he’s only got so much time to chase his skating dreams before they turn into simple fantasy. He’s had to walk away from another who actually had the gall to tell him that a new regimen might do wonders for his inconsistency, like it’s a personal failing of his own coaches that he keeps letting them down.

The idea of competing against his seniors is nearly overwhelming; the thought of disappointing everyone who believes in him, of proving the non-believers right and making the JSF regret inviting him is even worse.

Sometimes he wishes that he’d started the tradition of dreaming about Victor before his competitions instead of Victor’s. He could use the comfort right now.

The thought pulls him up short, but it’s not something he has time to deal with, so he shoves it away. That’s what he’s best at, after all. Victor is gone forever (or at least he will be once Yuuri stops accidentally dreaming of him), and that’s how it’s supposed to be.

He throws his heart and soul into a fourth new interpretation of his program, but even as he finishes he can tell it’s not his best showing, and he only ends up taking fourth place. He tries to remind himself that’s higher than expected, considering he’s only a junior, but it’s still disappointing—even after the best year of his career he can’t pull through when it really matters.

He’s proved right when announcements come out and the JSF ends up sending him to Four Continents to compete with the seniors there as well, only listing him as an alternate for Worlds and the Olympics.

****

—

****

**January 27-30, 2010**

**Four Continents - Jeonju, South Korea**

****

Yuuri’s not even sure he deserves Four Continents, but he does his best anyway when January rolls around. Unfortunately, the seniors are another level entirely, and although he’s pretty sure this version of his program is better than the one at Nationals, he struggles just to keep up and comes in seventh overall, to his utter mortification.

People keep telling him seventh place is nothing to be ashamed of, but it’s not that—it’s the fact that he sat sat with his head between his knees for most of the time he wasn’t on the ice, shaking like a leaf because he felt so pressured to do _better_ than Nationals, to prove that people have the right to be proud of him, that he has a right to be proud of himself. It’s the fact that he somehow forgot what he was supposed to be doing during his free skate and just winged it, and _yes,_ the winging went fine but that’s not the point, he wasn’t supposed to just blank out like a first-timer, frozen at the first point of pressure.

It’s the fact that he can’t help feeling like he’s let not only himself down, but everyone else who brags about him as well—Yuuko’s parents even paid to come since it lined up with a business trip, and now all they have to show for it is a lousy pair of ticket stubs and an unfortunate association with a junior struggling out of his league.

The night before he flies home, he rolls into a ball and finally lets himself miss Victor.

****

—

****

**February 12-28, 2010**

**XXI Olympic Winter Games - Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada**

****

When the Olympics come around, Yuuri follows along with the skating events religiously. He would have even if he hadn’t been a hair’s breadth away from going, but everything somehow seems even more real and terrifying knowing that he could have been there, representing his entire country in front of the entire world. Even the thought that he might go to Worlds isn’t as big as the Olympics. _Everyone_ follows the Olympics, even the non-skating fans.

He doesn’t even realize he might dream about Victor until he’s already in the dream—Victor hasn’t been to the Olympics before (even though he should have been sent four years ago, especially with that wild turn of events giving Russia only one skater), so Yuuri’s never even thought about imagining the Olympic village or meeting Victor there. Even though, funnily enough, this is technically the closest Yuuri’s ever gotten to actually competing against him on the same ice.

But he’s always kept his daydreams to the ISU competitions (they were really the only ones he’d been able to follow before getting a computer, and after that it was just habit), so when he opens his eyes to a Canadian hotel room, it’s somehow still a shock.

And maybe it’s the shock that does it, but for some reason Yuuri finds himself following a moonbeam to the chair by the window, and soon enough he’s perching in the splash of light, watching his shadow tangle through the scattered strands of Victor’s hair and waiting for… well, anything to happen.

He’s not sure how long he waits, but eventually, something changes. Nothing obvious; it’s not like Victor makes any sudden moments, and even his breath doesn’t change all that much, but there’s a slight hitch before it continues, and the air of the room begins to feel… watchful.

Yuuri draws his knees to his chest and glances at Victor’s face. The blue of his eyes is shadowed, partially covered by his eyelashes and the rest of the way by his hair, but he makes no move to brush it away. In fact, his entire body is still, almost stiller than it is when he’s truly sleeping, like he’s holding every muscle taut.

When he speaks, his lips barely move, and Yuuri has to lean forward to hear.

“Are you real… or is this another dream?”

Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut. He’s supposed to be the one asking that—but of course he can’t expect to be able to ask Victor something that he doesn’t have the answer to. Victor’s hand twitches for a moment like it wants to move, but almost purposefully softens into the loose curl of sleep again. The rest of him keeps to that unnatural stillness as he waits for Yuuri to respond.

Yuuri hugs himself and looks away. “It’s only a dream.”

It’s better, that way. Better to imagine that he’s begun inexplicably dreaming of Victor without trying: lucid, memorable dreams, of a Victor who’s always existed in the nebulous space between dreams and waking anyway. Better to imagine that Victor might simply have crossed over from the waking part to the sleeping.

That Yuuri isn’t doing this on purpose.

Victor’s breath slows for a moment, drawn out in a shakily extended exhale as his eyes fall shut.

Yuuri opens his mouth, caught on the edge of calling out, of stopping Victor from falling asleep and leaving him, of stopping himself from hanging onto a fool’s dream. His throat closes up and he can’t make any sound come out. Distantly, his ears register a question.

“…Are you okay?”

Victor’s eyes are still shut, his voice strained.

Yuuri convulsively swallows down a hysterical laugh. What is he supposed to say? Yes? Of course he isn’t. No? Probably, but if not being okay means getting to see Victor, even like this, even just for the seven second span of a dream, then that changes his answer… or does it? Nothing about this situation is okay. And even so, Yuuri’s already way better than he was at the beginning of the season. In the end, he can’t hold back a soft sigh.

“I don’t know. Are _you_ okay?”

He winces at his own response, scrubbing his face and wishing he could tear his eyes away from Victor’s face. Why on earth would he ask him if he’s okay? He’s not even _real!_

“Now that you’re here I am.” Victor’s eyes open again, straining uselessly to lock on his. Yuuri looks at his lips instead, half bitten and curling painfully around the words. He’s not supposed to be here, or even want to. He’s not supposed to think Victor might want him to keep dreaming.

“Please—” Victor pauses and Yuuri’s eyes snap unbidden back to his. He’s not going to _ask_ Yuuri to keep dreaming, is he? “I missed you.”

Relieved, Yuuri responds without thinking.

“I missed you too.”

Victor’s face almost looks hopeful as he loses the tight control holding his body in sleep-like stillness, lifting his head and pushing himself in Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri shifts his weight backwards in response, holding his breath. There’s a difference between thinking he misses Victor and saying it out loud, and it suddenly feels too real, especially in conjunction with a Victor who responds instead of lying in pretense of sleep.

But he does.

Yuuri misses it all: Victor, the quiet moments stolen in dreams, never feeling guilty about doing it, just living in the moment, even if it was pretend. There’s something about it all that always felt _right,_ like… home.

His eyes sting and he rocks forward again, opening his mouth without a clue what’s going to come out. Victor sucks in a quick breath—

And there’s a crash at his door.

Yuuri turns to look as it continues into a forceful thudding, with muffled words swimming distantly through the door alongside the knock.

“No. _No!_ I don’t care if this is just a dream; don’t leave me again!! I don’t have to get up yet, I don’t—I don’t have to go anywhere!”

“I…” Yuuri licks his lips. “This is you, Victor. I can’t—” He can’t deal with more people coming into the dream. He can’t see it changed so much, not when he’s just gotten that feeling back. He starts pushing himself away, trying to remember how he got out of it earlier this season.

“Come back to me at Worlds, you _have_ to—”

Yuuri closes his eyes and answers in his heart.

_“I will.”_

He doesn’t think until the next morning about what happens if he doesn’t dream of Victor again. About whether he’ll actually have to choose to start daydreaming again, even though he’s just spent the whole season deciding not to. About how he’s supposed to keep a promise that clashes with all his other promises in so many ways. He doesn’t think about that… until he does.

And then he tries not to, anyway. He pushes the thought aside along with his omurice, ignoring his family’s concerned looks as he puts his shoes on and starts jogging to practice. It tries to follow, as does his mother, but he just starts running faster, letting the cold air jab his eyes into tears as the rink approaches far too quickly.

****

—

****

**March 22-28, 2010**

**World Figure Skating Championships - Turin, Italy**

****

It’s finally unsurprising when he dreams about Victor yet again at Worlds. It seems like his subconscious is tired of the struggles he keeps putting himself through regarding this whole situation, and really, what can he do about that? Sure, it’s a bit strange, and probably unhealthy in some way, but it’s got to be less wrong if he’s not actually consciously doing it, right? Maybe he just needs to get it out of his system.

Sometimes closure takes longer than people want it to… and maybe he doesn’t want closure just yet.

He misses Victor.

He misses Victor, and he’s tired of trying to force himself to make a decision about what to do. Maybe there isn’t a right or wrong choice. Maybe there isn’t a choice at all.

And so he climbs onto the second bed, lying empty next to Victor’s, and settles in to wait for him to wake, and when Victor rolls over and his eyes briefly flutter open to fall upon Yuuri’s face, Yuuri says hello.

Like last time, Victor briefly freezes, but unlike last time, he immediately moves again, jerking up at a speed he rarely reaches even on the ice. Yuuri’s heart pounds nearly out of his chest, but he’s the one holding himself in control this time, so he smiles and shifts slightly, turning his body to face Victor’s.

Victor gathers the big down comforter in a heap across his lap, clenching his fists in the folds as he slowly draws himself up to sit against the headboard of his bed, staring at Yuuri all the while. He opens his mouth and a wild complexity of emotions run across his face before he closes it again, pulling more of the comforter into his arms and hugging it to his chest. His eyes glitter in the moonlight and Yuuri’s heart pounds harder.

Yuuri wants to say something first this time, but his voice gets caught in his throat and nothing comes out. He stares back at Victor, chewing on his bottom lip. This is okay, right? Going along with the dreams? It’s not like he can choose to stop dreaming, but choosing to stay, that’s fine?

He doesn’t know who to plead with in his soul, but more than anything he wants it to be.

Victor cracks first, the words tumbling over each other in an almost defensive tone. “I’m not dreaming this time; you’re really here.”

“I’m sorry. I tried…”

He’s not sure if he’s sorry for the fact that he tried to stay away, to stop dreaming about Victor, or for the fact that he’s back, that he can’t stop placing the weight of his personal life and expectations upon the other man. Maybe it’s both. And maybe he’s still mixing this version of Victor up with the real one in that he even thinks he can apologize here and have it somehow matter.

He sighs. “Everything is harder than I thought it would be. I’m sorry.”

“You…” Victor rubs his hand over his eyes. “I thought you were gone forever. I kept thinking I saw you, felt your presence, but you never stayed. Are you…”

Victor trails off before he can get the rest out, but Yuuri gets the gist.

“I’m here now. I just… had to figure some things out.”

“Did I… is everything…” Victor restarts his question a few times, changing it every time before he rushes on, but in the end leaving it unasked, unlike the last time. Yuuri rescues him with a subject change.

“Tell me about the Olympics. How was that experience?” Victor frowns, but Yuuri bites his lip and tilts his head imploringly. “Please? I can’t… let’s not touch on the other things right now.”

Victor’s mouth falls slightly open. “Oh. _Oh._ I… right, I didn’t realize that was…”

It’s a strange way to start, but eventually he gets wrapped up in the stories and goes off like lightning, fully caught up living the Olympics yet again for Yuuri’s sake. Seeing the smile on his face, something rough in Yuuri’s heart begins to smooth over, soothed by the balm of Victor’s voice and infectious passion. Somehow, it’s still the smile that he’s always imagined seeing directed at him—the big one, not the cool, constrained one he sees Victor put on in interviews, and that’s enough to know that this is the Victor he’s always held in his heart.

That maybe he always will.

Not _the_ Victor Nikiforov, but _a_ Victor Nikiforov… no better than the real one, but no worse either, for all his imaginary status.

It’s that thought which he holds close for the rest of the evening, and maybe that’s why, at the end, when Victor licks his lips and clearly collects his courage before stabbing Yuuri in the gut with the tone in which he delivers the phrase, “Zayka, I don’t think I can handle it if something like this happens aga—” Yuuri doesn’t think twice before interrupting in the affirmative.

“It won’t. I promise.”

Victor’s eyes are glittering again, and with a start Yuuri realizes it’s because they’re collecting a thin film of tears. “Are you sure?”

He’s an idiot. There’s no way around that. But there’s no way Yuuri can say no, not to someone this important to him, not with that look on Victor’s face. It’s the kind of look he’d do anything to see again, even if it’s just a dream. He’ll figure the rest out later. As long as he can keep the two Victors separate in his mind, he’ll be fine, right?

“Yes, I’m sure.” And then because he’s all in by this point, he goes on. “No matter what.”

 


End file.
